Long years ago I blazed a trail
Through lovely woods unknown till then
And marked with cairns of splintered shale
A mountain way for other men;

For other men who came and came:
They trod the path more plain to see,
They gave my trail another's name
And no one speaks or knows of me.

The trail runs high, the trail runs low
Where windflowers dance or columbine;
The scars are healed that long ago
My ax cut deep on birch and pine.

Another's name my trail may bear,
But still I keep, in waste and wood,
My joy because the trail is there,
My peace because the trail is good.

From My Poetry Book: An Anthology of Modern Verse for Boys and Girls (Huffard, Carlisle, Ferris, 1934).