O little road, where do you go?
I saw you start a while below,
And then you climbed the woody hill;
It almost seemed you'd reach the sky,
While down below so patient, I
Am standing, waiting for you still.
Will you sometime turn round and then
Hurry back to home again?
Or will you always want to stray
To richer lands far, far away—
And never once look back to see
This little house and waiting me?
