Illustrated, poster-size versions of Robert Service’s poem “A Race of Men.”
A Race of Men
There’s a race of men, that don’t fit in
A race that can’t sit still.
So they break the hearts of kith and kin
And roam the world at will.
They range the field and rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.
If they just went straight they might go far –
They are strong, and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of things that are
And they want the strange and new.
They say, ‘Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make.’
So they keep on going and each new move
Is only a fresh mistake.
Robert W. Service