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(Editor's note: This poem was first shared in June of 2010. It is shared with you again).

March 27, 2012

James Stephens (1882-1950)
"The Goat Paths"

The crooked paths go every way
   Upon the hill — they wind about
Through the heather in and out
   Of the quiet sunniness.
And there the goats, day after day,
   Stray in sunny quietness,
Cropping here and cropping there,
   As they pause and turn and pass,
Now a bit of heather spray,
   Now a mouthful of the grass.

In the deeper sunniness,
   In the place where nothing stirs,
Quietly in quietness,
   In the quiet of the furze,
For a time they come and lie
   Staring on the roving sky.

If you approach they run away,
   They leap and stare, away they bound,
With a sudden angry sound, 
   To the sunny quietude;
Crouching down where nothing stirs
   In the silence of the furze,
Couching down again to brood
   In the sunny solitude.

If I were as wise as they
   I would stray apart and brood,
I would beat a hidden way
   Through the quiet heather spray
To a sunny solitude;

   And should you come I'd run away,
I would make an angry sound,
   I would stare and turn and bound
To the deeper quietude,
   To the place where nothing stirs
In the silence of the furze.

In that airy quietness
   I would think as long as they;
Through the quiet sunniness
   I would stray away to brood
By a hidden beaten way
   In a sunny solitude.

I would think until I found
   Something I can never find,
Something lying on the ground,
   In the bottom of my mind.