The road winds onward long and white, It curves in mazy coils, and crooks A beckoning finger down the height; It calls me with the voice of brooks To thirsty travellers in the night. I leave the lonely city street, The awful silence of the crowd; The rhythm of the roads I beat, My blood leaps up, I shout aloud, My heart keeps measure with my feet. A bird sings something in my ear, The wind sings in my blood a song 'Tis good at times for a man to hear; The road winds onward white and long, And the best of Earth is here! |