The Vagabond

To tread the path of glory needs a braver soul than I, A man who will not stop to watch the white clouds drifting by, A man who will not pause to throw a pebble in a stream Or stretch full length upon its bank, the captive of a dream. A braver soul than I must tread the rugged way and long, A man who will not stop to catch the wild canary’s song, A man who’ll pass a thousand charms and never turn to see The beauty of the petaled dress upon an apple tree. To tread the path of glory needs a stronger soul than mine, A man that isn’t tempted when the air is sharp as wine, A man that has no vision save the golden goal he seeks, And doesn’t hear the language which the voice of nature speaks. But I am prey to woods and fields, to sunny hills and streams, And I’ve a soul which likes to drift and tease itself with dreams, And weak am I that should be strong—a sunbeam on a pond Has but to wink an eye at me, and I’m a vagabond.