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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508808" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Nostomaniac</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the ragged edge of the world I'll roam,<br>And the home of the wolf shall be my home,<br>And a bunch of bones on the boundless snows<br>The end of my trail . . . who knows, who knows!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm dreaming to-night in the fire-glow, alone in my study tower,<br>My books battalioned around me, my Kipling flat on my knee;<br>But I'm not in the mood for reading, I haven't moved for an hour;<br>Body and brain I'm weary, weary the heart of me;<br>Weary of crushing a longing it's little I understand,<br>For I thought that my trail was ended, I thought I had earned my rest;<br>But oh, it's stronger than life is, the call of the hearthless land!<br>And I turn to the North in my trouble, as a child to the mother-breast.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here in my den it's quiet; the sea-wind taps on the pane;<br>There's comfort and ease and plenty, the smile of the South is sweet.<br>All that a man might long for, fight for and seek in vain,<br>Pictures and books and music, pleasure my last retreat.<br>Peace! I thought I had gained it, I swore that my tale was told;<br>By my hair that is grey I swore it, by my eyes that are slow to see;<br>Yet what does it all avail me? to-night, to-night as of old,<br>Out of the dark I hear it -- the Northland calling to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I'm daring a rampageous river that runs the devil knows where;<br>My hand is athrill on the paddle, the birch-bark bounds like a bird.<br>Hark to the rumble of rapids! Here in my morris chair<br>Eager and tense I'm straining -- isn't it most absurd?<br>Now in the churn and the lather, foam that hisses and stings,<br>Leap I, keyed for the struggle, fury and fume and roar;<br>Rocks are spitting like hell-cats -- Oh, it's a sport for kings,<br>Life on a twist of the paddle . . . there's my &quot;Kim&quot; on the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How I thrill and I vision! Then my camp of a night;<br>Red and gold of the fire-glow, net afloat in the stream;<br>Scent of the pines and silence, little &quot;pal&quot; pipe alight,<br>Body a-purr with pleasure, sleep untroubled of dream:<br>Banquet of paystreak bacon! moment of joy divine,<br>When the bannock is hot and gluey, and the teapot's nearing the boil!<br>Never was wolf so hungry, stomach cleaving to spine. . . .<br>Ha! there's my servant calling, says that dinner will spoil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What do I want with dinner? Can I eat any more?<br>Can I sleep as I used to? . . . Oh, I abhor this life!<br>Give me the Great Uncertain, the Barren Land for a floor,<br>The Milky Way for a roof-beam, splendour and space and strife:<br>Something to fight and die for -- the limpid Lake of the Bear,<br>The Empire of Empty Bellies, the dunes where the Dogribs dwell;<br>Big things, real things, live things . . . here on my morris chair<br>How I ache for the Northland! &quot;Dinner and servants&quot; -- Hell!!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Am I too old, I wonder? Can I take one trip more?<br>Go to the granite-ribbed valleys, flooded with sunset wine,<br>Peaks that pierce the aurora, rivers I must explore,<br>Lakes of a thousand islands, millioning hordes of the Pine?<br>Do they not miss me, I wonder, valley and peak and plain?<br>Whispering each to the other: &quot;Many a moon has passed . . .<br>Where has he gone, our lover? Will he come back again?<br>Star with his fires our tundra, leave us his bones at last?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes, I'll go back to the Northland, back to the way of the bear,<br>Back to the muskeg and mountain, back to the ice-leaguered sea.<br>Old am I! what does it matter? Nothing I would not dare;<br>Give me a trail to conquer -- Oh, it is &quot;meat&quot; to me!<br>I will go back to the Northland, feeble and blind and lame;<br>Sup with the sunny-eyed Husky, eat moose-nose with the Cree;<br>Play with the Yellow-knife bastards, boasting my blood and my name:<br>I will go back to the Northland, for the Northland is calling to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then give to me paddle and whiplash, and give to me tumpline and gun;<br>Give to me salt and tobacco, flour and a gunny of tea;<br>Take me up over the Circle, under the flamboyant sun;<br>Turn me foot-loose like a savage -- that is the finish of me.<br>I know the trail I am seeking, it's up by the Lake of the Bear;<br>It's down by the Arctic Barrens, it's over to Hudson's Bay;<br>Maybe I'll get there, -- maybe: death is set by a hair. . . .<br>Hark! it's the Northland calling! now must I go away. . . .</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Go to the Wild that waits for me;<br>Go where the moose and the musk-ox be;<br>Go to the wolf and the secret snows;<br>Go to my fate . . . who knows, who knows!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508808" data-title="The Nostomaniac de Robert William Service" data-description="On the ragged edge of the world I'll roam,
And the home of the wolf shall be my home,
And a bunch of bones on the boundless snows
The end of my trail . . . who knows, who knows!

I'm dreaming to-night in the fire-glow, alone in my study tower,
My ..."></div>
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