Ho, a
Whereon we may up and away,
With a fetterless wind that is out on the downs,
And there piping a call to the fallow and shore,
Where the sea
Surgeth over the gray reef, and
The fierce rocks with white foam;
It is ours with untired feet to
Where the pines in green gloom of wide vales make their murmuring home,
Or the pools that the sunlight hath
Mirror back a blue sky that is winnowed of cloud and of mist!
Ho, a
Whereon we may up and
Through the orient distances hazy and pied,
Hand in hand with the gypsying breezes that
Here and there, to and fro,
O'er the meadows all rosy and wide,
Where a lyric of
Is sweet-sung to the frolicking hours,
And the merry buds letter the foot-steps of tip-toeing showers;
We may climb where the steep is
With a turbulent waterfall, loving to clamor and fret!
Ho, a
Whereon we may up and
To the year that is holding her cup of wild wine;
If we drink we shall be as the gods of the
In the blithe days of
Elate with a laughter divine;
Yea, and then we shall
The rare magic of solitude
We shall nevermore wish its delight and its dreams to forego,
And our blood will upstir and
With a fellowship splendid, a gladness impassioned and deep!
