...Were you ever out in the Great Aline,
when the moon was awful clear,
And the icy mountains hemmed you in
with a silence you most could hear;
With only the howl of a timber wolf,
and you camped there in the cold,
A falf-dead thing in a stark, dead world,
clean mad for the muck called gold;
While high overhead, greeen, yellow and red,
the North Lights swept in bars? --
Then you've a hunch what the music meant . . .
hunger and night and the stars.
And hunger not of the belly kind
that's banished with bacon and beans.
But the gnawing hunger of lonely men
for a home and all that it means;
For a fireside far from the cares that are,
four walls and a roof above;
But oh! so cramful of cozy joy,
and crowned with a womans's love --
A woman dearer than all the world;
and true as Heaven is true....
(God! how ghastly she looks through her rouge
the lady that's know as Lou.)
