THE PADDOCK
Over the miles of tangle or turf:
Through the cities that roar like surf:
Dew of a meadow, dust of the street:—
Whatsoever I meet, I garner and greet.
Fern of the forest, alley’s breath,
Kiss of a lover, rattle of Death,
Bell-bird’s music, and drunken brawl—
I travel, I travel, I travel, and taste them all!
—Or, in a spacious solitude,
Closely gather my wings, and brood;
Mix with nothing and taste my mood!
Which of you, Brothers, is half so free?
The Creek is held in its banks,
The Grass is tied to its roots,
The Leaves to the Tree.
But hither and thither, now here, now there,
Now there, now here, I voyage and veer,
Voyaging, visiting, everywhere.
You must stay, but, wandering still,
Away, away, wander I may,
Whithersoever I will.
Heigh-ho!
For weal, for woe,
The world goes round, and the wind must blow.
Soon, Brothers, soon I must go,
My wonted, my wanted way!
Tides are rising, and tides are falling,
Clouds, and cities, and seas are calling—
Hark!—and I must obey.
A breath to bring, and a song to sing,
A time to come, and a time to tarry,
A load to shift, and a load to lift,
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