The Vagabond At Home

Oh, it’s spring once more in France, and it’s spring in gay Algiers, And it’s spring along the happy Appian Way; There are cherries in Japan, and the thrushes’ joy and tears Pipe for England, “There is nowhere such a day!” How the call rings clear, commanding: “Hurry over, sail afar To the date-tree and the banyan’s dim domain; To the Yangtze and the Yalu, where the bell-topped temples are; And remember there are castles left in Spain!” But I hear a whisper steady, blowing down my own home-stream Full of all the glad romance I used to know: “Leave the lands beyond to others; Our wee woodfolk are your brothers; And the earth is bursting treasure!” So I go. When the wander urge is on me, there are never bonds that hold; When the summons comes, it never comes in vain; But the foreign trails are either far too new or far too old⁠— Give me April in my native woods again!