wanderlust

Wander Thirst ~ A Poem by Gerald Gould

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The Call of the Open Road: Finding Meaning in Wander Thirst

Have you ever felt an unexplainable pull toward something beyond where you stand right now?

Wander Thirst

Gerald Gould

BEYOND the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea,
And East and West the wander-thirst that will not let me be;
It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-bye;
For the seas call, and the stars call, and oh! the call of the sky!

I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are;
But a man can have the sun for a friend, and for his guide a star;
And there’s no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard,
For the rivers call, and the roads call, and oh! the call of the bird!

Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day
The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away;
And come I may, but go I must, and, if men ask you why,
You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road and the sky.

Source

 Reflection

Gerald Gould’s Wander Thirst speaks to the restlessness that lives quietly—or loudly—inside so many of us. It’s the ache that rises when routine feels too small and the horizon whispers possibilities. The poem reminds us that the pull toward something more is not always logical or convenient, but it is deeply human. We may not know where the road leads, yet the longing itself becomes a guide. Gould suggests that movement is not rebellion against home, but devotion to becoming. Sometimes growth requires leaving certainty behind and trusting the stars, the sun, and the inner voice that refuses to be silent.

As you read this poem, ask yourself:

What inner call or “wander-thirst” have you been ignoring, and what might happen if you finally listened to it?

Wander – Thirst ~ A Poem by Gerald Gould

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The Unending Call of Wanderlust: Answering the Sky’s Invitation to Live Fully

Gerald Gould’s “Wander-Thirst” stirs the restless heart that longs for new horizons—reminding us that some souls are born not to settle, but to seek.

Wander – Thirst

Gerald Gould

BEYOND the East the sunrise, beyond the West the sea,
And East and West the wander-thirst that will not let me be;
It works in me like madness, dear, to bid me say good-bye;
For the seas call, and the stars call, and oh! the call of the sky!

I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are;
But a man can have the sun for a friend, and for his guide a star;
And there’s no end of voyaging when once the voice is heard,
For the rivers call, and the roads call, and oh! the call of the bird!

Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day
The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away;
And come I may, but go I must, and, if men ask you why,
You may put the blame on the stars and the sun and the white road and the sky.

Source

Reflection:

Gerald Gould’s “Wander-Thirst” captures that deep, untamable yearning that lives in certain souls—the pull toward the unknown, the wide-open road, and the infinite sky. The poem speaks to those who find peace not in stillness, but in motion; not in arrival, but in the journey itself.

Beneath the beauty of Gould’s words lies a spiritual truth: the “call of the sky” is not just an invitation to travel, but to awaken—to rediscover our wonder and curiosity about life. The poem reminds us that the spirit’s greatest adventures are both outward and inward. Even when we seem lost, the journey itself becomes our compass.

Perhaps Gould’s wanderer isn’t escaping life but embracing it—answering the universe’s whisper that there’s always more to see, feel, and become.

Question for Readers:

What “call of the sky” have you felt in your own life—a longing that wouldn’t let you rest until you followed it?

Poem for Today: The Vagabonds by Bliss Carman

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The Vagabonds by Bliss Carman

We are the vagabonds of time,
And rove the yellow autumn days,
When all the roads are gray with rime
And all the valleys blue with haze.
We came unlooked for as the wind
Trooping across the April hills,
When the brown waking earth had dreams
Of summer in the Wander Kills.
How far afield we joyed to fare,
With June in every blade and tree!
Now with the sea-wind in our hair
We turn our faces to the sea.

We go unheeded as the stream
That wanders by the hill-wood side,
Till the great marshes take his hand
And lead him to the roving tide.

The roving tide, the sleeping hills,
These are the borders of that zone
Where they may fare as fancy wills
Whom wisdom smiles and calls her own.

It is a country of the sun,
Full of forgotten yesterdays,
When Time takes Summer in his care,
And fills the distance of her gaze.

It stretches from the open sea
To the blue mountains and beyond;
The world is Vagabondia
To him who is a vagabond.

In the beginning God made man
Out of the wandering dust, men say;
And in the end his life shall be
A wandering wind and blown away.

We are the vagabonds of time,
Willing to let the world go by,
With joy supreme, with heart sublime,
And valor in the kindling eye.

We have forgotten where we slept,
And guess not where we sleep to-night,
Whether among the lonely hills
In the pale streamers’ ghostly light

We shall lie down and hear the frost
Walk in the dead leaves restlessly,
Or somewhere on the iron coast
Learn the oblivion of the sea.

It matters not. And yet I dream
Of dreams fulfilled and rest somewhere
Before this restless heart is stilled
And all its fancies blown to air.

Had I my will! . . . The sun burns down
And something plucks my garment’s hem:
The robins in their faded brown
Would lure me to the south with them.

‘Tis time for vagabonds to make
The nearest inn. Far on I hear
The voices of the Northern hills
Gather the vagrants of the year.

Brave heart, my soul! Let longings be!
We have another day to wend.
For dark or waylay what care we
Who have the lords of time to friend?

And if we tarry or make haste,
The wayside sleep can hold no fear.
Shall fate unpoise, or whim perturb,
The calm-begirt in dawn austere?

There is a tavern, I have heard,
Not far, and frugal, kept by One
Who knows the children of the Word,
And welcomes each when day is done.

Some say the house is lonely set
In Northern night, and snowdrifts keep
The silent door; the hearth is cold,
And all my fellows gone to sleep….

Had I my will! I hear the sea
Thunder a welcome on the shore;
I know where lies the hostelry
And who should open me the door.

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A Better Life ~ Wandering Around May Be the Best Option

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“Not all those who wander are lost” (J.R.R. Tolkien). There is so much pressure in contemporary society to set goals and achieve success. It seems as if you don’t follow these two precepts something is wrong. What is right for some is not necessarily right for everyone. Wandering around and trying to figure out what you want to do when you grow up may be the best option. I know I’m still trying to figure it out and enjoying the journey as I go along. Welcome aboard to the wanderlust train. 

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