Ii

Like the woods of old Kentucky The memories of childhood Arch up to where gold chariot wheels go ringing, To where the precious airs are terraces and roadways For witnesses to God, forever singing. Like Mammoth Cave, Kentucky, the memories of childhood Go in and in forever underground To river and fountain of whispering and mystery And many a haunted hall without a sound. To Indian hoards and carvings and graveyards unexplored. To pits so deep a torch turns to a star Whirling ’round and going down to the deepest rocks of earth, To the fiery roots of forests brave and far.