The wild geese flew to the South last night.
  I heard their honk as they steered them past,
And my wild heart leaped to their arrow-flight;
  But the night was dark, and the geese fly fast.

A bugle note through the windless sky -
  More clear, more loud, then more faint, more low.
They left no trace I could follow by,
  For there's never a track where the wild geese go.

And I was swept with a quick despair
  As fainter echoed their speeding calls,
For their wings were swift on the pathless air,
  While my heart's wings beat against four gray walls.