The Golden Shoes

The winds are lashing on the sea; The roads are blind with storm. And it's far and far away with me; So bide you there, stay warm. It's forth I must, and forth to-day; And I have no path to choose. The highway hill, it is my way still.— Give me my golden shoes. God gave them me on that first day I knew that I was young. And I looked far forth, from west to north; And I heard the Songs unsung. This cloak is worn too threadbare thin, But ah, how weatherwise! This girdle serves to bind it in; What heed of wondering eyes?— And yet beside, I wear one pride —Too bright, think you, to use?— That I must wear, and still keep fair.— Give here my golden shoes. God gave them me, on that first day I heard the Stars all chime. And I looked forth far, from road to star; And I knew it was far to climb. They would buy me house and hearth, no doubt, And the mirth to spend and share; Could I sell that gift, and go without, Or wear—what neighbors wear. But take my staff, my purse, my scrip; For I have one thing to choose. For you,—Godspeed! May you soothe your need. For me, my golden shoes! He gave them me, that far, first day When I heard all Songs unsung. And I looked far forth, from west to north. God saw that I was young!