My left hand hooks you round the waist, My right hand points to landscapes of continents, and a plain public road. Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. It is not far . . . . it is within reach, Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know, Perhaps it is every where on water and on land. Shoulder your duds, and I will mine, and let us hasten forth; Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go. If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip, And in due time you shall repay
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