A Year Off

Had I a year to idle through,With cash to waste and no restriction,I’d plan a programme to outdoThe wildest feats of travel fiction.

On steamship guides I’d slake my thirst,And railway maps would make me wiser—America consider’d firstTo please the local advertiser.

O’er England and the ContinentI’d chart a course to shame the sages,In each cathedral town intentTo catch the colour of the ages.

Paris and Rome I would not miss;Without the Rhine I’d be no planner,For one must make a jaunt like thisA Grand Tour in the ancient manner!

But Europe is a trifle trite,So I would spare no pains in learningHow best to scan in casual flightThe East, where sheiks and sands are burning.

I’d look up ferries on the Nile,And ’bus fares for the trip to Mecca;

Have chemists test in proper styleThe drinking-fountain of Rebecca.

The route of ev’ry Tigris bargeI’d note, and find how much they’d ask us;What good hotels in Bagdad charge,And yellow taxis in Damascus.

And I would surely have on handThe folders of that great excursion,The Golden Road to Samarkand,Thro Bahai bow’rs and gardens Persian.

Beyond, the Pullman rates I’d getFor Kiao-chau and Yokohama,Arranging passage thro’ ThibetTo dally with the Dalai Lama.

In tropic isles I’d plan to stayTill South Sea melodies would bore me,And for the North Pole book a day,Where only Peary went before me.

Thus might I scheme—till in the endThe year would slip away unheeded,My money safe with me to spend,And the wild outing scarcely needed!