The Golden Shoes
The winds are lashing on the sea;
The roads are blind with storm.
And it’s far and far away with me;
So bide you there, stay warm.
It’s forth I must, and forth to-day;
And I have no path to choose.
The highway hill, it is my way still.—
Give me my golden shoes.
God gave them me on that first day
I knew that I was young.
And I looked far forth, from west to north;
And I heard the Songs unsung.
This cloak is worn too threadbare thin,
But ah, how weatherwise!
This girdle serves to bind it in;
What heed of wondering eyes?—
And yet beside, I wear one pride
—Too bright, think you, to use?—
That I must wear, and still keep fair.—
Give here my golden shoes.
God gave them me, on that first day
I heard the Stars all chime.
And I looked forth far, from road to star;
And I knew it was far to climb.
They would buy me house and hearth, no doubt,
And the mirth to spend and share;
Could I sell that gift, and go without,
Or wear—what neighbors wear.
But take my staff, my purse, my scrip;
For I have one thing to choose.
For you,—Godspeed! May you soothe your need.
For me, my golden shoes!
He gave them me, that far, first day
When I heard all Songs unsung.
And I looked far forth, from west to north.
God saw that I was young!