Sleep and wake and work, Work and sleep and wake, Ever the same old irk, Ever the same old ache. The ache of a weary heart That cries for the road it knew. For the trail without a chart For the path without a clue. But I have fought it down, The fever to go and go; I'm bound to the roaring town And the crowds that ebb and flow. But the old-time memories hold And the old-time voices call Till I almost break from the fold And follow the trail and all! Sleep and wake and work, Day after dreary day, Penned in the city's murk, Far from the wander way. Yet, when the day is done, Yet when the night birds trill, Rovers all—I am one For I dream of the roving still! |