It may be the trail will lead me afar
To mountain paths, where the wild sheep are.
Or with simple people, and free from guile,
I will pitch my tent and will rest awhile.
I am weary of softness and things of ease,
And weary of Scribes, and of Pharisees.
On a morning road where the wind is strong,
I may learn again to whistle a song.
Down forest paths, or the ways of the sea,
My soul and my faith may come back to me.
And always and ever beneath the skies,
I will look for a woman with honest eyes.
I will follow no will at all but my own,
And the road I take I will take alone.
"Some day," I said, "before Life is over,
I will shut my house door, and will be a rover."
*****
II