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.
