THE SAME OLD LURE
BY BERTON BRALEY
WHEN west winds blow,
I want to go
Where mountain-peaks are wrapped in snow,
And breathe the air
That thrills you there
With strength to do and nerve to dare!
When west winds call,
I hate it all—
This life of petty things and small!
And I have cried
Again to ride
Where sun is clear and plains are wide.
When west winds sigh
At night, I lie
And dream of careless days gone by.
(To hear me blow,
You’d never know
I’d not been west of Cleveland, O.)