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595. The Way Through the Woods by Rudyard Kipling
Rudyard Kipling read by Classic Poetry Aloud
http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com
Twitter: @classicpoetry
Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
---------------------------------------
The Way Through the Woods
by Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936)
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods. . . .
But there is no road through the woods.
Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
View all episodes
By Classic Poetry Aloud
4.3
147147 ratings
Rudyard Kipling read by Classic Poetry Aloud
http://www.classicpoetryaloud.com
Twitter: @classicpoetry
Facebook: www.facebook.com/poetryaloud
Giving voice to the poetry of the past.
---------------------------------------
The Way Through the Woods
by Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936)
They shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath,
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.
Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools
Where the otter whistles his mate.
(They fear not men in the woods,
Because they see so few)
You will hear the beat of a horse's feet,
And the swish of a skirt in the dew,
Steadily cantering through
The misty solitudes,
As though they perfectly knew
The old lost road through the woods. . . .
But there is no road through the woods.
Reading © Classic Poetry Aloud, 2007.
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