Would that I might visit France;
France that lies too far away.

But I will go on a wayward journey
Wearing the suit I bought today
And, as the train pants up the mountain,
I will think of this and that,
Leaning on the sky-blue window,
Thinking about Ararat.

Yes, I’ll go on a wayward journey,
Go where the young green things invite
And think of such May morning things
As this May morning makes seem right.