THE VAGABOND

By Theodosia Garrison

The little dream she had forgot

Oh, long and long ago,

Came back across the April fields

And touched her garment so

( As might a wind-blown primrose cling

And one scarce guess or know. )

A little beggared outcast dream

Forgot of Love and men,

And all because a fiddler played

An old song in the glen,

And two Young Lovers hand in hand,

Sent back its tune again.

The little dream she had forgot

Crept near and clung and stayed —

A roving, ragged vagabond

Half daring, half afraid,

And all because young love went by

And one old fiddler played.