Across the dusty, foot-worn street
Unblessed of flower or tree,
Faint and far-off—there ever sounds
The calling of the sea.
From out the quiet of the hills,
Where purple shadows lie,
The pine trees murmur, "Come and rest
And let the world go by."
The west wind whispers all night long
"Oh, journey forth afar
To the green and pleasant places
Where little rivers are!"
And the soft and silken rustling
Of bending yellow wheat
Says, "See the harvest moon—that dims
The arc-lights of the street."
Though the city holds thee captive
By trick, and wile, and lure,
Out yonder lies the loveliness
Of things that shall endure.
The river road is wide and fair,
The prairie-path is free,
And still the old earth waits to give
Her strength and joy to thee.
THE KNIGHT-ERRANT
Keen in his blood ran the old mad desire
To right the world's wrongs and champion truth;
Deep in his eyes shone a heaven-lit fire,
And royal and radiant day-dreams of youth!
Gracious was he to both beggar and stranger,
And for a rose tossed from fair finger-tips
He would have ridden hard-pressed through all danger,
The rose on his heart and a song on his lips!
All the king's foes he counted his foemen;
His not to say that a cause could be lost;
Spirits like his faced the enemies' bowmen
On long vanished fields—nor counted the cost.