To the Road
Cool is the wind, for the summer is waning,Who ‘s for the road?Sun-flecked and soft, where the dead leaves are raining,Who ‘s for the road?Knapsack and alpenstock press hand and shoulder,Prick of the brier and roll of the boulder;This be your lot till the season grow older;Who ‘s for the road?
Up and away in the hush of the morning,Who ‘s for the road?Vagabond he, all conventions a-scorning,Who ‘s for the road?Music of warblers so merrily singing,Draughts from the rill from the roadside up-springing,Nectar of grapes from the vines lowly swinging,These on the road.
Now every house is a hut or a hovel,Come to the road:Mankind and moles in the dark love to grovel,But to the road.Throw off the loads that are bending you double;Love is for life, only labor is trouble;Truce to the town, whose best gift is a bubble:Come to the road!