Some sigh for the breath of the desert  Where the stifling heat waves blow;

Some pant for the trackless tundra  And the sting of the cold and snow;

Some long for the wash of a sultry sea  As it breaks on a tropic shore;

Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas  And the sound of the Arctic's roar.

The things that men love be countless  But they're seldom the same with two,

For the things I care for most of all  Might never appeal to you.

Some men run to wine and woman,  Some long for a wife and a home,

And he drifts with the tide, unsatisfied,  Who leaves these things to roam.

For he hates the sands of the desert  And the slimy tropic south,

Or his dreams of a northern fortune  Are as ashes in his mouth.

He loses the best life holds for man  His existence means

Still he goes his way, until comes the day  When he quits it--a life misspent.

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