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...GOOD-BYE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PEACE (1) by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR PROSIT NEUJAHR by GEORGE SANTAYANA ST. FRANCIS EINSTEIN OF THE DAFFODILS (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS GOING FOR WATER by ROBERT FROST |