Wide spaces called me, and the way was free;
Feet falter not upon a road unknown:
How languish, one who, looking back, can see—
A thousand miles—no footsteps but his own?
Not half a hundred voyagings for gold
Could make me rich as many times I’ve been
When, weary-eyed, I’ve watched the dawn unfold
And spread soft radiances o’er a desert scene.
Thoughts were my treasure; where may thoughts be sold?
My world was empty, but my world was clean.