The friendly milestones passing waved me on;
The road ahead was level as behind,
The plain as fair. What need had I to mind
Grim tales sent back by those who once had gone
This way? Could that bright, careless gold
Of dandelions, those grackles glittering,
Sun-purpled, or the field larks that took wing
Portend a scoriac desert, chasms, and cold?
Nonsense! Yet for the moment trees had grown
A little denser so that the green flames died
From grass and leaves. Earth shook as thought it snored,
Troubled with dreams of thunder, and I spied
Far off above a pale wall, cloud or stone,
Brandished, the yellow lightning of a sword.
-Jesse Wills
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