I laks yo’ kin’ of lovin’
Ain’t never caught you wrong
But it jes ain’ nachal
Fo’ to stay here long;
It jes ain’ nachal
Fo’ a railroad man
With a itch fo’ travelin’
He cain’t understan’. . . .
I looks at de rails
An’ I looks at de ties
An’ I hears an ole freight
Puffin’ up de rise,
An’ at nights on my pallet
When all is still
I listens fo’ de empties
Bumpin’ up de hill;
When I oughta be quiet
I is got a itch
Fo’ to hear de whistle blow
Fo’ de crossin’ or de switch,
An’ I knows de time’s a nearin’
When I got to ride
Though it’s homelike and happy
At your side.
You is done all you could do
To make me stay;
’Tain’t no fault of yours I’se leavin’—
I’se jes dataway.
I is got to see some people
I ain’ never seen,
Gotta highball thu some country
Whah I never been. . . .
I don’t know which way I’m travelin’—
Far or near,
All I knows fo’ certain is
I cain’t stay here.
Ain’t no call at all, sweet woman,
Fo’ to carry on—
Jes my name and jes my habit
To be Long Gone. . . .
From The Book of American Negro Poetry (Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1922), edited by James Weldon Johnson. This poem is in the public domain.