Listen! I will be honest with you
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer
rough new prizes.
These are the days that must happen to you:
you shall not heap up what is call'd riches,
you shall scatter with lavish hand all that you
earn to archive,
you but arrive at the city to which you were destin'd,
you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction before you
are call'd by an irresistible call to depart,
you shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mockings
of those who remain behind you,
what beckonings of love you receive you shall only
answer with passionate kisses of parting,
you shall not allow the hold of those who spread
their reach'd hands toward you.

Walt Withman. Song of the open road. Estrofa 2.