Though bliss it be to grandly roam
    In foreign land or sea,
The joy of joys is coming home
    To domesticity.
And with content to settle down
    From travel wear and tear,
With slippers, pipe and dressing-gown
    In snug armchair.

When you have climbed the Pyramid,
    Admired the Taj Mahal,
Beheld a bull-fight in Madrid,
    Gondoled the Grand Canal,
How gleeful seems the garden patch
    With blooms of bonny hue!
How Towser, when you lift the latch,
    Leaps up to you.

You've drunk gin-slings in Singapore,
    Loafed in the souks of Fez,
Sun-bathed on Capri's silver shore.
    And scaled the heights of Eze.
For travel education is,
    And how you see and learn,
But, oh! the climax of your bliss
    In your return!

Aye, though you comb the blasted earth
    And roam the seven seas,
But when beside the quiet hearth
    You cull your memories,
Then when the books and friends you love,
    You'll find in peace and rest
The end of travel is to prove
    That home is best.