The speaker is a guard standing at morning where an old road meets a new one. October has touched the trees with color, and the scene slips between the real and the imagined. In the distant treetops he sees faces—heroes or dead men in shrouds—while columns of young sailors in blue pass by, winking and smiling. The leaves sound like surf, the sky deepens, and a single cloud is driven by the wind. Everything becomes almost hypnotic. By the end, the speaker says he strips away reality and drowns himself in these sensations. The mood is quiet, dreamy, and elegiac: lovely but shadowed by thoughts of death and memory, as if the ordinary morning road opens onto something visionary.
Morning Guard — Summary
Where the old road meets the new road I stand the guard at morn, Where one comes winding down the hill, The other, through it torn.
October’s friendly fingers dipped In every mellow shade Have touched the leaves on all the trees That stand within the glade.
In distant treetops I behold, As I have seen in clouds, The faces of my heroes Or dead men in their shrouds.
The marching columns pass me by, All sailor lads in blue. And some will wink, and some will smile, The way young fellows do.
And overhead the deepening sky More bright and bluer flows, While one lone fleecy, sheeplike cloud Before the dog-wind goes.
The restless leaves like pounding surf Sound breakers through the trees. I strip of all reality And drown myself in these.