There are women in London and Paris and Rome
With the light of the sun in their hair,
With the color of joy in their eyes and their lips, —
But the one that I love is n't there.

The one that I love — ah well! …
I know by the heart's reminder,
By the leap in the throat and the spring in the blood
The way I must follow to find her.

'Tis bitter to gallop in Rotten Row
With the prettiest English girl
When your heart's afloat on the western sea
Where Atlantic breakers curl.

Then out of a hundred thousand ways
One way lies shining and bright,
One way out under the western stars
To the feet of my heart's delight.