Classic Poem

My brothers stay in cities
To gather shame and gold,
But I am for the highway
And the wind upon the wold.

They take the train each morning
To a dull, bricked-up place;
I trudge the living country
With the sunlight on my face.

I know no home or shelter,
No bed but good green grass,
Nor any friends but hedgerows
To greet me as I pass.

But though the road still calls me
To places wild and steep,
I find the going heavy;
My eyes are full of sleep.

The fields lie all about me;
The trees are gay with sap—
As I go weary, weary
To my great mother's lap,

To rest me with my mother,
The kindly earth so brown.
And Lord! But well contented
I'll lay my carcase down.