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.