I hunt for the golden stag.
You may smile, my friends, but I pursue the vision that eludes me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander through nameless lands, because I am hunting for the golden stag.
You come and buy in the market and go back to your homes laden with goods, but the spell of the homeless winds has touched me I know not when and where.
I have no care in my heart; all my belongings I have left far behind me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander through nameless lands— because I am hunting for the golden stag.

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The gardener
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