Not that I always struck the proper mean 
Of what mankind must give for what they gain, 
But, when I think of those whom dull routine 
And the pursuit of cheerless toil enchain, 
Who from their desk-chairs seeing a summer cloud 
Race through blue heaven on its joyful course 
Sigh sometimes for a life less cramped and bowed, 
I think I might have done a great deal worse; 
For I have ever gone untied and free, 
The stars and my high thoughts for company; 
Wet with the salt-spray and the mountain showers, 
I have had the sense of space and amplitude, 
And love in many places, silver-shoed, 
Has come and scattered all my path with flowers.