THE road winds onward long and white,
It curves in mazy coils, and crooks
A beckoning finger down the height;
It calls me with the voice of brooks
To thirsty travellers in the night.
I leave the lonely city street,
The awful silence of the crowd;
The rhythm of the roads I beat,
My blood leaps up, I shout aloud,
My heart keeps measure with my feet.
Nought know, nought care I whither I wend:
‘ Tis on, on, on, or here or there.
What profiteth it an aim or end?
I walk, and the road leads anywhere.
Then forward, with the Fates to friend!
‘ Tis on and on! Who knows but thus
Kind Chance shall bring us luck at last?
Adventures to the adventurous!
Hope flies before, and the hours slip past:
O what have the hours in store for us?
A bird sings something in my ear,
The wind sings in my blood a song
Tis good at times for a man to hear;
The road winds onward white and long,
And the best of Earth is here!