The Call

Have you heard the calling, calling, of the Distance, Through the purple reaches where the mountains wait; With Dreamland round their shoulders, where the sunset fire smoulders⁠— Oh, the guarding Distance calls us from their gate. In the morning it entices with the sunrise, In the evening it is urging through the gold; We must heed the sweet insistence, for this mystic blue-veiled Distance Hides our wished-for land of Dreams within its hold. We will cinch the saddle tighter, tie the strings of wide sombrero, While the mists about the top are gray and dim; With the eager trail uptrending, and the morning sky low bending⁠— Oh, the evening star will we see o’er the rim. When the wind blows thin and keen about the summit, And the camp-fire sparkles warm upon the brim, On a couch of pine boughs fragrant, who would scorn to be a vagrant, And follow when the Distance calls to him?