The Stable Path

The last red rose on the arch has faded, The border has mourned for its last white flower; The dahlias droop where the frost has raided, The grass is wet with an autumn shower; Dull are the paths with their leaf-strewn gravel, Cold is the wind as it wanders by, Still there's a path that a man can travel Happy at heart though the roses die. The path to the stable!- Though summer be ended, Though down through the garden no bird be astir, This path has new melodies tunefully blended- The flick of a whip with the clink of a spur! So-on through the yew-trees where shadows strike chiller, Across the paved courtyard, at last to the stall Where, pawing in eagerness, chained on the pillar Stands, champing his bit-bars, the Pearl of them All!