“The Feet of the Young Men”
by Rudyard Kipling
Now the hunting winds are loose
Now the smokes of spring go up to
Clear the brain;
Now the young men’s hearts are troubled
For the whisper of the trues,
Now the Red Gods make their medicine again
Who hath smelt wood-smoke at twilight?
Who hath heard the birch-log burning?
Who is quick to read the noises of the night?
Let him follow with the others,
For the young men’s feet are turning
To the camps of proved desire
And known delight!