| OH, what 's the way to Arcady, | |
| To Arcady, to Arcady; | |
| Oh, what 's the way to Arcady, | |
| Where all the leaves are merry? | |
| |
| Oh, what 's the way to Arcady? | 5 |
| The spring is rustling in the tree— | |
| The tree the wind is blowing through— | |
| It sets the blossoms flickering white. | |
| I knew not skies could burn so blue | |
| Nor any breezes blow so light. | 10 |
| They blow an old-time way for me, | |
| Across the world to Arcady. | |
| |
| Oh, what 's the way to Arcady? | |
| Sir Poet, with the rusty coat, | |
| Quit mocking of the song-bird's note. | 15 |
| How have you heart for any tune, | |
| You with the wayworn russet shoon? | |
| Your scrip, a-swinging by your side, | |
| Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide. | |
| I 'll brim it well with pieces red, | 20 |
| If you will tell the way to tread. | |
| |
| Oh, I am bound for Arcady, | |
| And if you but keep pace with me | |
| You tread the way to Arcady. | |
| |
| And where away lies Arcady, | 25 |
| And how long yet may the journey be? | |
| |
| Ah, that (quoth he) I do not know— | |
| Across the clover and the snow— | |
| Across the frost, across the flowers— | |
| Through summer seconds and winter hours, | 30 |
| I 've trod the way my whole life long, | |
| And know not now where it may be; | |
| My guide is but the stir to song, | |
| That tells me I cannot go wrong, | |
| Or clear or dark the pathway be | 35 |
| Upon the road to Arcady. | |
| |
| But how shall I do who cannot sing? | |
| I was wont to sing, once on a time— | |
| There is never an echo now to ring | |
| Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme. | 40 |
| |
| 'T is strange you cannot sing (quoth he), | |
| The folk all sing in Arcady. | |
| |
| But how may he find Arcady | |
| Who hath nor youth nor melody? | |
| |
| What, know you not, old man (quoth he)— | 45 |
| Your hair is white, your face is wise— | |
| That Love must kiss that Mortal's eyes | |
| Who hopes to see fair Arcady? | |
| No gold can buy you entrance there; | |
| But beggared Love may go all bare— | 50 |
| No wisdom won with weariness; | |
| But Love goes in with Folly's dress— | |
| No fame that wit could ever win; | |
| But only Love may lead Love in | |
| To Arcady, to Arcady. | 55 |
| |
| Ah, woe is me, through all my days | |
| Wisdom and wealth I both have got, | |
| And fame and name, and great men's praise; | |
| But Love, ah, Love! I have it not. | |
| There was a time, when life was new— | 60 |
| But far away, and half forgot— | |
| I only know her eyes were blue; | |
| But Love—I fear I knew it not. | |
| We did not wed, for lack of gold, | |
| And she is dead, and I am old. | 65 |
| All things have come since then to me, | |
| Save Love, ah, Love! and Arcady. | |
| |
| Ah, then I fear we part (quoth he), | |
| My way 's for Love and Arcady. | |
| |
| But you, you fare alone, like me; | 70 |
| The gray is likewise in your hair. | |
| What love have you to lead you there, | |
| To Arcady, to Arcady? | |
| |
| Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; | |
| My true companion 's Memory. | 75 |
| With Love he fills the Spring-time air; | |
| With Love he clothes the Winter tree. | |
| Oh, past this poor horizon's bound | |
| My song goes straight to one who stands— | |
| Her face all gladdening at the sound— | 80 |
| To lead me to the Spring-green lands, | |
| To wander with enlacing hands. | |
| The songs within my breast that stir | |
| Are all of her, are all of her. | |
| My maid is dead long years (quoth he), | 85 |
| She waits for me in Arcady. | |
| |
| Oh, yon 's the way to Arcady, | |
| To Arcady, to Arcady; | |
| Oh, yon 's the way to Arcady, | |
| Where all the leaves are merry. | 90 |
