Behind shuttering walls of stone--
Give me the wind and an open road,
And I'll not hide alone.
Though back be bent by heavy load
And wind like a piercing blade,
Yet sorrow is keener and heavier still--
The heaviest load e'er made.
This road may struggle and strive in vain
To reach an impossible mark,
But better to walk it step by step
Than ride aimlessly in the dark.
For sorrow is blacker than blackest night
And fear turns hearts to clay;
Then give me the wind and an open road:
Gladly I'll walk this way.
The wind is humble, the wind is keen,
Of the wild wind I sing;
Far better to feel her blast than sit
By a fire sorrowing.
And though feet falter and grow weak,
Numbed by a pain that sears,
Still better to walk this way than lie
Idle, on a bed of fears.
Yes, walls are high and fear is keen
And fire and bed are sweet;
But give me the wind and an open road,
And shoes upon my feet.