Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TOLL-GATE MAN, by WILSON PUGSLEY MACDONALD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TOLL-GATE MAN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: They tore down the toll-gate
Last Line: From the next far hill.
Subject(s): Toll Roads


THEY tore down the toll-gate
By the songless mill,
But the gray gate-man
Takes toll there still;
And he takes from all
Whether or not they will.

Few people see him,
With his moonlit hair,
Taking with ghost palms
The old, slim fare.
But the whole night long
He waits sadly there.

In winter on the snow
I can hear his shoes
Crunching me welcome,
Crunching me adieus:
But wherever he goes
He leaves no clews.

Strange coin I pay him,
Minted in my soul --
Tears I caught long ago
In a silver bowl,
Sighings for a lost love:
These I pay for toll.

Strangely does his hand come
Out of the thin wind,
And strangely is the night air
About his shoulders pinned.
So white his hair is you would think
His soul had never sinned.

The fool goes by him,
In a blazing car,
Sighing: "How lonely
These crossroads are."
But the old gate-man
Will follow him far.

Follow him until he pays
As men paid of old;
But not with cold silver
And not with warm gold,
But with that treasure
Which is life to hold.

On dark, wet nights
In the slanting rain
The gate-man bends
With an old, old pain;
But on warm, clear nights
He grows straight again.

They tore down the toll-gate
By the songless mill,
But the gray gate-man
Takes toll there still;
You can see his moonlit hair
From the next far hill.





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