THE TRAVELED MAN.
SOMETIMES I wish the railroads all were torn out, The ships all sunk among the coral strands. I am so very weary, yea, so worn out, With tales of those who visit foreign lands.
When asked to dine, to meet these traveled people, My soup seems brewed from cemetery bones. The fish grows cold on some cathedral steeple, I miss two courses while I stare at thrones.
I'm forced to leave my salad quite untasted, Some musty, moldy temple to explore. The ices, fruit and coffee all are wasted While into realms of ancient art I soar.
I'd rather take my chance of life and reason, If in a den of roaring lions hurled Than for a single year, ay, for one season, To dwell with folks who'd traveled round the world.