Here it circles around a tor

While the conies wonder what roads are for

Down by the stream where the trout are found

It leaps the flood at a single bound.

Silent beside the sycamore glade

It creeps through the dusk that the trees have made.

And whether it runs by tor and stream

The moorland road, it is all agleam.

With sparkles of quartz like diamonds bright

That glitter wherever they catch the light.

O the shining road, unfenced and free

It leads to heaven for you and me.

Beatrice Chase.