THE ROVER

Though I follow a trail to north or south,

Though I travel east or west,

There's a little house on a quiet road

That my hidden heart loves best;

And when my journeys are over and done,

‘ Tis there I will go to rest.

The snows have bleached it this many a year;

The sun has painted it grey;

The vines hold it close in their clinging arms;

The shadows creep there to stay;

And the wind goes calling through empty rooms

For those who have gone away.

But the roses against the window-pane

Are the roses I used to know;

And the rain on the roof still sings the song

It sang in the long ago,

When I lay me down to sleep in a bed

Little and white and low.

It is long since I bid it all good-bye,

With young light-hearted disdain;

I remember who stood at the door that day;

Her tears fell fast as the rain;

And I whistled a tune and waved my hand,

But never went back again.

Toll I have paid at the gates of the world,

The sand I know and the sea;

I have taken the wide and open road,

With steps unhindered and free;

Yet, like a bell ringing down in my heart,

My home is calling to me.