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Title: On The Roads
Author: Arthur Symons [
More Titles by Symons]
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!
[The end]
Arthur Symons's poem: On The Roads
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