Wild geese

The wild geese flew to the South last night.

I heard their honk as they steered them past,

And my wild heart leaped to their arrow-flight;

But the night was dark, and the geese fly fast.

A bugle note through the windless sky -

More clear, more loud, then more faint, more low.

They left no trace I could follow by,

For there's never a track where the wild geese go.

And I was swept with a quick despair

As fainter echoed their speeding calls,

For their wings were swift on the pathless air,

While my heart's wings beat against four gray walls.