The road is a gypsy, it calls night and day, It whispers and beckons, I must up and away. It slips from the east as a thin silver mist And is lost in the western deep amethyst; It is narrow, alluring, never goes straight, And like a swift swallow it never can wait. I must follow it over the shadowy hill, Then down through the valley so cool and so still, In and out the dim woodland where it quietly creeps Till steeped in pine-fragrance, grows drowsy and sleeps. On through old cities with their colorful lure And lands of enchantment whose magic is sure, By lake and by ocean it pauses to rest, Then sweeps to the northward, or dips to the west. My heart is a nomad, so why should I care Which way the road travels? I find the way fair When spring lights her tapers or summer moons glow Or autumn's bright fires are banked with deep snow. The road is a gypsy, it calls night and day, I hear it, I answer ... I am up and away! |