The Traveller

[I still have the original, dated June 16th, 1951, and I haven’t changed a word, except to remove the hyphens from ‘country-side’ and ‘way-side’. When I chose the title I didn’t know that the patron saint of travellers was St Christopher.]


The traveller goes for miles on end,

Through countryside and towns,

And sometimes for a day or two,

Goes through some lonely downs.


Through forests full of giant trees,

With flowers here and there,

He goes to lots of places,

But nobody knows where.


He sometimes stops at wayside inns,

And follows lanes and streams,

Until his feet are tired and aching,

Then sits and rest and dreams.