Departure

It's little I care what path I take,

And where it leads it's little I care,

But out of this house, lest my heart break,

I must go, and off somewhere!

It's little I know what's in my heart,

What's in my mind it's little I know,

But there's that in me must up and start,

And it's little I care where my feet go!

I wish I could walk for a day and a night,

And find me at dawn in a desolate place,

With never the rut of a road in sight,

Or the roof of a house, or the eyes of a face.

I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,

And drop me, never to stir again,

On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,

And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.

But dump or dock, where the path I take

Brings up, it's little enough I care,

And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,

Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.

"Is something the matter, dear," she said,

"That you sit at your work so silently?"

"No, mother, no—'twas a knot in my thread.