Page 76 - 1928 Hartridge

Pacfc Seventy-two
MD
My heart is a vagal)ond, a gy\])sy rover.
Full of restless longings all unknown to me;
Listening to the wind, to the vagrant, venturous sea.
Tugging at the check-rein, striving to he free. The leaves are hurrying, scurrying over
The hrown earth ; rustling, hustling l)y.
They are always in a hurry and will not tell me why. White clouds hurry o'er the clear blue sky.
The leaves are crimson, and hrown, and gold
Whirling madly onwards, all gathered together
By the restless wind, for they’re light as a feather.
i\Iy heart can scarce contain itself this bright fall weather. It says to me, “ Sluggard, why stand you here?
Listen to the whisper of the wistful wind.
Listen to the call of the careless sea.
See the white clouds scurrv on their wav.
See the flocks of birds that are passing you today.
Where are they going, and what will they see?
Up and follow, sluggard—up and come with me.
We will follow the birds, and the clouds, and the wind ; We will find the meaning of the never-silent sea.
Find the rainbow gold that nobody knows
And see where the golden-crimson sunset goes. Everything is hastening on ; there is unrest in the air.
Oh, who would stay at home with adventure everywhere? My heart is a vagabond, a vagrant, gypsy rover.
The Vagabond
Tugging at the check-rein, striving to he free.
D. C. L . ,
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