| One day through the primeval wood |
| a calf walked home as good calves should; |
| But made a trail all bent askew, |
| A crooked path as all calves do... |
| The trail was taken up the very next day |
| By a lame dog that passed that way; |
| And then a wise bell weather sheep |
| Pursued that trail o'er hill and steep, |
| And drew the flock behind him, too |
| As good Bell Weather always do, |
| And from that day, o'er hill and glade |
| Through these old weeds a path was made... |
| And many men wound in and out, |
| And dodged and turned and bent about |
| And uttered words of righteous wrath |
| Because "twas such a crooked path..." |
| The forest path became a lane |
| That bent and turned and turned again; |
| The crooked lane became a road, |
| Where many a poor horse with his load |
| Toiled on beneath the burning sun |
| And traveled some three miles in one... |
| The years past on it swiftness fleet, |
| The road became a village street; |
| And this before men were aware, |
| A city's crowded thoroughfare... |
| Each day a hundred thousand bout |
| Followed this zigzagging calf about, |
| And o'er his crooked journey went |
| The traffic of a continent. |
| A hundred thousand men were led |
| By one calf near three centuries dead. |
| They followed still his croaked way, |
| And last one hundred year a day; |
| For this such reverence was lent |
| To a well-established precedent. |
| For men are prone to go it blind |
| Along the calf path of the mind, |
| And work away from sun to sun |
| To do what other men have done. |
| They follow in the beaten track |
| And in and out, and forth and back, |
| And still their devious course pursue |
| To keep the path that others do. |
| They keep the path a sacred groove |
| Along which all their lives they move; |
| But how the wise old wood gods laugh |
| Who saw the first primeval calf! |