our hearts a jog.
And I—yes, even I, have flicked at a sudden tear
And have turned my back on Smoky Jack lest
he see the thing and jeer.
Spur of the nomad’s taint! Back to the ring-
ing rails
That coaxingly curve to the far unknown!
Confusion to courts and jails!
The “goat” is coughing the grade; grab for
the rods, there, Jack,