Swords and Plowshares/My Journey

​My Journey

To John Burroughs, from whom I obtained the idea

WHY should I travel, whom the journeying year Conveys, a passenger, from clime to clime? Now in the glades of tropic summer-time,Where scarlet songsters pipe their note of cheer;Then through the harvest-land, where ear on ear Of Indian corn swells in its vigorous prime, And maples blush at kissing of the rime,While hazy distances grow keen and clear; ​And then still northward to the snowy waste Of dead December's realm where Cold is king,Whence turning to the South I needs must haste Toward the warm waking region of the Spring.And all these lands I love, and, loving, fainWould rest for long in each, but all in vain!

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