The Lure of the Desert
I lie in my blanket, alone, alone!
Hearing the voice of the roaring rain,
And my heart is moved by the wind’s low moan
To wander the wastes of the wind-worn plain,
Searching for something—I cannot tell—
The face of a woman, the love of a child—
Or only the rain-wet prairie swell
Or the savage woodland wide and wild.
I must go away—I know not where!
Lured by voices that cry and cry,
Drawn by fingers that clutch my hair,
Called to the mountains bleak and high,
Led to the mesas hot and bare.
O God! How my heart’s blood wakes and thrills
To the cry of the wind, the lure of the hills.
I’ll follow you, follow you far;
Ye voices of winds, and rain and sky,
To the peaks that shatter the evening star.
Wealth, honor, wife, child—all
I have in the city’s keep,
I loose and forget when ye call and call
And the desert winds around me sweep.