Processional
I must be rising and I must be going
On the roads of magic that stretch afar,
By the random rivers so finely flowing
And under the restless star.
I must be roving on the roads of glory,
So I'll up and shoe me with red-deer hide.
For youth must be learning the ancient story—
Let the wearied oldsters bide.
On the roads of magic that stretch afar,
By the random rivers so finely flowing
And under the restless star.
I must be roving on the roads of glory,
So I'll up and shoe me with red-deer hide.
For youth must be learning the ancient story—
Let the wearied oldsters bide.
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