Home No More Home to Me, Whither Must I Wander? by Robert Louis Stevenson

(To the Tune of Wandering Willie)

Home no more home to me, whither must I wander?

Hunger my driver, I go where I must.

Cold blows the winter wind over hill and heather; / Thick drives the rain, and my roof is in the dust.

Loved of wise men was the shade of my roof-tree, / The true word of welcome was spoken in the door --

Dear days of old, with the faces in the firelight, / Kind folks of old, you come again no more.

Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces, / Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child.

Fire and the windows bright glittered on the moorland; / Song, tuneful song, built a palace in the wild.

Now, when day dawns on the brow of the moorland, / Lone stands the house, and the chimney-stone is cold.

Lone let it stand, now the friends are all departed, / The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old.

Spring shall come, come again, calling up the moor-fowl, / Spring shall bring the sun and rain, bring the bees and flowers; / Red shall the heather bloom over hill and valley, / Soft flow the stream through the even-flowing hours; / Fair the day shine as it shone on my childhood --

Fair shine the day on the house with open door; / Birds come and cry there and twitter in the chimney --

But I go forever and come again no more.