THE CALL

I must be off where the green boughs beckon —

Why should I linger to barter and reckon?

The mart may pay me — the mart may cheat me,

I have had enough of the huckster's din,

The calm of the deep woods waits to greet me,

( Heart of the high hills, take me in. )

I must be off where the brooks are waking,

Where birds are building and green leaves breaking.

Why should the hold of an old task bind me?

I know of an eyrie I fain would win

Where a wind of the West shall seek me and find me,

( Heart of my high hills, take me in. )

I must be off where the stars are nearer,

Where feet go swifter and eyes see clearer,

Little I heed what the toilers name me —

I have heard the call that to miss were sin,

The April voices that clamour and claim me,

( Heart of my high hills, take me in. )