It is good to be out on the road and going one knows not where,
Going through meadow and village, one knows not whither or why.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quite sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

Most roads lead men homewards,
My road leads me home.