Walking at Night

My face is wet with the rain But my heart is warm to the core, For I follow at will again The road that I loved of yore; And the dim trees beat the dark, And the swelling ditches moan, But my heart is a singing, soaring lark For I travel the road alone. Alone in the living night Away from the babble of tongues; Alone with the old delight Of the night wind in my lungs; And the wet air on my cheeks And the warm blood in my veins, Alone with the joy he knows who seeks The thresh of the young spring rains, With the smell of the pelted earth, The tearful drip of the trees, Making him dream of the sound of mirth That comes with the clearing breeze. ’Tis a rare and wondrous sight To tramp the wet awhile And watch the slow delight Of the sun’s first pallid smile, And hear the meadows breathe again And see the far woods turn green, Drunk with the glory of wind and rain And the sun’s warm smile between! I have made me a vagrant song, For my heart is warm to the core, And I’m glad, oh, glad that the night is long For I travel the road once more. And the dim trees beat the dark And the swelling ditches moan, With the joy of the singing, soaring lark I travel the road, alone!