Wanderlust

THE highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all, And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call; Only the call of the long, white road to the far horizon's wall.

The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night in June, And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon; Never a night that lasts too long or a dawn that breaks too soon!

The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, the sea breeze, fierce and bold, And never a breeze that gives the lie to a tale that a breeze has told; Always the tale of the strange and new in the countries strange and old.

The lone trail and the known trail, the trail you must take on trust, And never a trail without a grave where a wanderer's bones are thrust— Never a look or a turning back till the dust shall claim the dust!