It's little I care what path I take, br And where it leads it's little I care; br But out of this house, lest my heart break, br I must go, and off somewhere. br br It's little I know what's in my heart, br What's in my mind it's little I know, br But there's that in me must up and start, br And it's little I care where my feet go. br br I wish I could walk for a day and a night, br And find me at dawn in a desolate place br With never the rut of a road in sight, br Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face. br br I wish I could walk till my blood should spout, br And drop me, never to stir again, br On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out, br And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain. br br But dump or dock, where the path I take br Brings up, it's little enough I care: br And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make, br Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere. br br 'Is something the matter, dear,' she said, br 'That you sit at your work so silently?' br 'No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread. br There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea.'br br Edna St.