Once I heard a hobo, singing by the tie-trail,
Squatting by the red rail rusty with the dew:
Singing of the firelight, singing of the high-trail,
Singing to the morning as the dawn broke through:

" Saddle, rail, or packsack — any way you take it:
Choose a pal and try him, but on your own is best.
Sand, clay, or cinders — any way to make it,
Looking for tomorrow down the long road west. "

Far across the ranges, over where the sea swings,
Battering the raw ledge, booming up the sand:
There I heard a sailor telling what the sea sings,
Sings to every sailor when he longs for land:

" When you've saved your cash and when you've done your hitch, sir;
Holystone and hardtack, buckle to the test —
When you're back in port and your feet begin to itch, sir,
Think about tomorrow, and the long road west. "

Slowly came a cowboy riding round the night herd;
Silver was the starlight, slender was the moon:
Then I heard him singing, lonely as a night bird,
Pony's head a-nodding to the queer old tune:

" Wind, rain, and sunshine — every kind of weather:
Sweating on the mesa, freezing on the crest:
Me and just my shadow, jogging on together,
Jogging on together down the long road west. "

Lazy was the cool stream slipping through the far light
Shadowing the buckthorn high along the hill,
When I heard a bird sing softly in the starlight,
Singing in the evening when the trees were still:

" Valley, range, and high trail, mesa, butte, and river:
Sun across the lowlands, rolling down to rest:
There'll always be the skyline, running on forever,
Running on forever, down the long road west. "