THE world is wide and the wind smells sweet, Wine-of-my-Life is the thought of day. The journey-lure and the footfall fleet, Over the hills and far away! Joy of the open, joy of the wood: Sun-drenched meadow and pungent pine; One with the vagrant brotherhood Under the vast sky, comrade mine! The slanting shadows, too, are fair, Keen is the afternoon in zest; Cool to the brow is the balmy air; At the end of the road is the Inn of Rest. There, from the travel stains washed clean, Better to sit a while than roam: Friends forgather for talk, I ween, All of the wanderers trooping home. The sun is up, and the blithe birds call; Then, Ho for the Inn that welcomes all! |