Rhymes of a Rolling Stone

Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE L4ND OF BEYOND HAVE ever you heard of the Land of Beyond. That dreams at the gates of the day? Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies, And ever so far away; Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls, And ye of the trail overfond, With saddle and pack, by paddle and track, Let's go to the Land of...
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: THE L4ND OF BEYOND HAVE ever you heard of the Land of Beyond. That dreams at the gates of the day? Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies, And ever so far away; Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke galls, And ye of the trail overfond, With saddle and pack, by paddle and track, Let's go to the Land of Beyond Have ever you stood where the silences brood, And vast the horizons begin, At the dawn of the day to behold far away The goal you would strive for and win? Yet ah in the night when you gain to the height, With the vast pool of heaven star-spawned, Afar and agleam, like a valley of dream, Still mocks you a Land of Beyond. Thank God there is always a Land of Beyond For us who are true to the trail; A vision to seek, a beckoning peak, A farness that never will fail; A pride in our soul that mocks at a goal, A manhood that irks at a bond, And try how we will, unattainable still. Behold it, our Land of Beyond SUNSHINE I FLAT as a.drum-head stretch the haggard snows; The mighty skies are palisades of light; The stars are blurred; the silence grows and grows; Vaster and vaster vaults the icy night. Here in my sleeping-bag I cower and pray: Silence and night, have pity stoop and slay. I have not slept for many, many days. I close my eyes with weariness ? that's all. I still have strength to feed the drift-wood blaze, That flickers weirdly on the icy wall. I still have strength to pray: God rest her soul, Here in the awful shadow of the Pole. There in the cabin's alcove low she lies, Still candles gleaming at her head and feet; All snow-drop white, ash-cold, with closed eyes, Lips smiling, hands at rest ? O God, how sweet How all unutterably sweet she seems. . . . Not dead, not dead ind...