Perhaps some evening yet, at peace in some old town, I'll drink my troubles down and die with less regret, -- time owes me such a debt. If once my fortunes mend shall I go breast the North, or, having gold to spend, dwell in the vine-clad earth? Ah, what is thinking worth? 'Tis but an idle sin. If I became once more the wanderer of yore, never would the green inn unlock for me the door. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 3. NAPLES by SARA TEASDALE LOVE-LILY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI BARBARA FRIETCHIE [SEPTEMBER 13, 1862] by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER FOOTLIGHT MOTIFS: 4. NATALIE ALT by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A CHARM SAID UNDER AN OAK by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |