Home no more home to me, whither shall I wander ?
Hunger my driver, I go where I must;
Cold blows the winter wind over hill and heather,
Thick drives the rain and my roof is in the dust.
Loved of wise men was the shade of my roof tree
The true word of welcome was spoken in the door.
Dear days of old with the faces in the firelight,
Kind friends of old, you come again no more !
Spring will come, come again, calling the moorfowl,
Spring will bring the sun and rain, bring the bee and flower ;
Red will the heather bloom over hill and valley,
Sweet flow the stream; in the even flowing hour.
Fair shine the day as it shone on my childhood,
Fair shine the day on the house with open door,
Birds come and cry there, twitter in the chimney,
But I go for ever, and come again no more !
--R. L. Stevenson.
Notes
From the NSW Newspaper The Worker 19 Dec 1912 Page 11.
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