Robert Louis Stevenson
Stout Marches Lead To Certain Ends - Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
STOUT marches lead to certain ends,
We seek no Holy Grail, my friends -
That dawn should find us every day
Some fraction farther on our way.
The dumb lands sleep from east to west,
They stretch and turn and take their rest.
The cock has crown in the steading-yard,
But priest and people slumber hard.
We two are early forth, and hear
The nations snoring far and near.
So peacefully their rest they take,
It seems we are the first awake!
- Strong heart! this is no royal way,
A thousand cross-roads seek the day;
And, hid from us, to left and right,
A thousand seekers seek the light.
Comments about Stout Marches Lead To Certain Ends by Robert Louis Stevenson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You