A Ballade Of Spring'S Unrest

Up in the woodland where Spring Comes as a laggard, the breeze Whispers the pines that the King, Fallen, has yielded the keys To his White Palace and flees Northward o'er mountain and dale. Speed then the hour that frees! Ho, for the pack and the trail!

Northward my fancy takes wing, Restless am I, ill at ease. Pleasures the city can bring Lose now their power to please. Barren, all barren, are these, Town life's a tedious tale; That cup is drained to the lees-- Ho, for the pack and the trail!

Ho, for the morning I sling Pack at my back, and with knees Brushing a thoroughfare, fling Into the green mysteries: One with the birds and the bees, One with the squirrel and quail, Night, and the stream's melodies-- Ho, for the pack and the trail!

L'Envoi

Pictures and music and teas, Theaters--books even--stale. Ho, for the smell of the trees! Ho, for the pack and the trail!