Vachel Lindsay

* * *

On the road to nowhere 
What wild oats did you sow 
When you left your father’s house 
With your cheeks aglow? 
Eyes so strained and eager 
To see what you might see? 
Were you thief or were you fool 
Or most nobly free? 

Were the tramp-days knightly, 
True sowing of wild seed? 
Did you dare to make the songs 
Vanquished workmen need? 
Did you waste much money 
To deck a leper’s feast? 
Love the truth, defy the crowd 
Scandalize the priest? 
On the road to nowhere 
What wild oats did you sow? 
Stupids find the nowhere-road 
Dusty, grim and slow. 

Ere their sowing’s ended 
They turn them on their track, 
Look at the caitiff craven wights 
Repentant, hurrying back! 
Grown ashamed of nowhere, 
Of rags endured for years, 
Lust for velvet in their hearts, 
Pierced with Mammon’s spears, 
All but a few fanatics 
Give up their darling goal, 
Seek to be as others are, 
Stultify the soul. 
Reapings now confront them, 
Glut them, or destroy, 
Curious seeds, grain or weeds 
Sown with awful joy. 
Hurried is their harvest, 
They make soft peace with men. 
Pilgrims pass. They care not, 
Will not tramp again. 

O nowhere, golden nowhere! 
Sages and fools go on 
To your chaotic ocean, 
To your tremendous dawn. 
Far in your fair dream-haven, 
Is nothing or is all... 
They press on, singing, sowing 
Wild deeds without recall!