Classic Poem

Oh, each must breast the world alone
On a one-way trail, my dear;
And though our ways may cross at times
They'll never travel near.

They'll never climb the self-same hills
Nor skirt the same ravine;
But you to the right and I to the left
And the valley mists between.

And you may find the going fair
Through shaded wood and glade,
While I am cut with briar thorn
Or bruised on rocky grade.

Oh, you may read the signs and know
Each narrow bridge and bend,
And where a pleasant hostel waits
To greet you at the end.

But my trail is an endless trail,
Unmapped, uncomforted;
I never know where I will sup
Or where I'll make my bed.

But this I know, that as I climb
The wider spreads the view;
The dust and clamor of the world
Fades in the cosmic blue.

The unobstructed winds blow strong,
The air grows sharply clear,
The little hills of earth sink down
And singing stars appear.

I would not change my way for thine
Or seek by easier road
The friendship of familiar towns,
The sharing of my load;

For I would mount the hills alone
And face with level eyes
The secrets of the Open Road.
And bright eternal skies.