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Poem by Eleanor Farjeon Vagrant Songs I But yesterday the winds of March Bent back the barren branches of the larch ... But O! to-day The bareness from the earth is swept away. Deep through my swelling breast I hear The wild call of the gipsy time o' year— O, Vagrant Spring, Brother o' mine, I'm for the gipsying! The greening earth I stand upon Tingles my feet: Brother, we must begone! Younger and younger, All my heart cries aloud with Wander-Hunger II Of troubles know I none, Of pleasures know I many— I rove beneath the sun Without a single penny. A king might envy long The fare my board adorning— Upon a throstle's song I broke my fast this morning; My lunch, a girl's quick smile, As I'm a living sinner; She walked with me a mile ... I kissed her for my dinner. Of troubles know I none, Of pleasures know I many— I fare beneath the sun Without a single penny! III O, how she laughs with me, Eats with me, quaffs with me, Smiles to me, sighs to me, Questions, replies to me, Answers my every mood, Finds good what I find good, Earth, the green Mother! Where shall man live and die Having my treasury Which never gold could buy— Water and air and sky And Earth's great sympathy— Save he do live as I? Join with me, Brother! If you be sickening Here's for your quickening! Here at the heart of it You shall be part of it, And the good smell of rain Shall make you whole again— Join with me, Brother! Here the life-sap runs green, Here the life-ways are clean, Here just one bird that sings Re-starts your sluggish springs, Here under moon and sun You, I and She are one, Earth, the green Mother! IV I lay me on the ground Under the dark, And Heaven's purple arc Drew its deep curtains round My weary head and shut away the sound. The golden star-lights crept Over the hill ... I lay so very still I heard them as they stepped ... "Sleep!" breathed the Earth. Upon her breast I slept. V I'll stay one night beneath your roof, And longer I will stay for no man, And as for love, I'm loving-proof— Turn by your eyes, White Woman. The Wander-fever's in my blood, I have no time for simple loving— The hot Earth is in roving mood, And I too must be roving. If I should love you ... soon, ah, soon I'd break your heart to go a-roaming, And chasing shadows of the moon Think never once of homing. Why will you wring my breast with tears? Tears will not quench the Wander-fever. Why will you fill my soul with fears When I will go for ever? I whom the Earth's green passions move Have put away all passions human ... I will not love!... I dare not love ... Turn by your eyes, White Woman. VI I went far and cold Over upland wold Where the story of spring's breathing Scarcely yet was told. Shifting monotone Of the pale wind's moan Through my hair at dusk went wreathing, And I walked alone. Far below and far Where the homesteads are One small ruddy candle twinkled, Warmer than a star. When the day was gone, Softly one by one Homing-lights the valley sprinkled ... And I wandered on. Eleanor Farjeon Eleanor Farjeon's other poems:
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