My head grew gray on the outland trails where I stood a man with men;
And now I whine like a hungry whelp to go out on the trails again.

How the whip of a rifle lifts my heart to the crags of a hidden range,
Where the black pines circle the riven peak and the silences estrange
A man from himself and all humankind; where the winds no leash have known,
And the soul is king of itself again, up there with the stars, alone.

The sea-worn sails that idle hang in the smoke of the harbor slips
Know a sweeter song than was ever sung by the fairest woman's lips;
And the sea that cradles the dripping prow as it comes to its island rest
Is a sweeter place for a weary head than the fairest woman's breast.
Where the pack-train plods in the desert noon and the world runs out to space,
And the lone coyote's hunger-cry breaks the startled ponies' pace;
Where the visioned lake is a mockery and death holds the pouch of gold,
There is more of peace than in all your creeds; yea, more by a thousandfold!

Saddle and rifle, spur and rope, and the smell of sage in the rain,
As down the cañon the pintos lope and spread to the shadowed plain. …

Up on the ledge where the burro creeps, patient and sure and slow,
Above a valley-floor that sleeps ten thousand feet below. …

Out where the tumbling schooner fights in the spume of the typhoon's hate;
Up where the huskie bays the lights of the Northland's frozen gate. …
Sun and wind and the sound of rain! Hunger and thirst and strife!
God! To be out on the trails again with a grip on the mane of life!
And my woman sees and hides a tear, for the cabin door is wide,
Unshadowed by sons that return no more, for they sleep in the ocean-tide,
Or out on the desert sand unmarked save by the rough-hewn stake,
For they died like men on the outland trails, but I stay for their mother's sake;

Stay … and dream of the outland trails and the songs of fighting men;
Stay… and whine like a hungry whelp to go out on the trails again.