...Seventy years ago.
Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There once was a path 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 rolls at ease,
There once was a road through the woods.

Yet, if you enter the woods
Of a summer evening late,
When the night-air cools on the trout-ring'd pools
Where the otter whistles his mate,
(They fear not men in the woods
Because they see so few)
You will heart 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.