A Wanderer
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WHEN Watkin shifts the burden of his cares And all that irked him in his bound employ Once more become a vagrom-hearted boy He moves to roundelays and jocund airs； Loitering with dusty harvestmen he shares Old ale and sunshine； or with maids half-coy Pays court to shadows； fools himself with joy Shaking a leg at junketings and fairs. Sometimes returning down his breezy miles A snatch of wayward April he will bring Piping the daffodilly that beguiles Foolhardy lovers in the surge of spring. And then once more by lanes and field-path stiles Up the green world he wanders like a king. |
