PC_256_Poe_1910_1911_Typescript_002

WANDERLUST.

The highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all,
And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call;
Only the call of the long white road to the far horizon's wall.

The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night of June,
And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon;
Never a night that lasts too long or a sawn that breaks too soon!

The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, and the sea breeze fierce
and bold,
And never a breeze that gives the lie to the tale that a breeze
has told;
Always the tale of the strange and new in countries strange and old.

The lone trail and the known trail, the trail you must take on
trust,
And never a trail without a grave where a wanderer's bones are
thrust--
Never a look or a turning back will the dust shall claim the dust.

--Isabel Mackay, in American Magazine.