The Vagrant

Iwill leave the dust of the city street and the noise of the busy town For the windy moor and the high hill and the peat-stream flowing brown; I will keep my watch by the camp-fires where the white cliffs lean to the sea, And dawn shall wake me with golden hands and the rain shall walk with me. I will seek the place where gypsies roam and strange, wild songs are sung; I will find once more the magic paths I knew when earth was young, And the stars will give me comradeship and the wind will be my friend, And I will send you the fairy gold that lies at the rainbow’s end. Stretch not your hands nor bid me stay, I hear the white road’s call, The sun hath kissed the buds from sleep, and I am one with them all; But I will send you a golden cloak and a pair of silver shoon, And a dream that the fairies spin from stars on the other side of the moon.