VAGABONDS

Your heart's a-tune with April and mine a-tune with June,

So let us go a-roving beneath the summer moon:

Oh, was it in the sunlight, or was it in the rain,

We met among the blossoms within the locust lane?

All that I can remember's the bird that sang aboon,

And with its music in our hearts we'll rove beneath the moon.

A love-word of the wind, dear, of which we'll read the rune,

While we still go a-roving beneath the summer moon:

A love-kiss of the water we'll often stop to hear —

The echoed words and kisses of our own love, my dear:

And all our path shall blossom with wild-rose sweets that swoon,

And with their fragrance in our hearts we'll rove beneath the moon.

It will not be forever, yet merry goes the tune

While we still go a-roving beneath the summer moon:

A cabin, in the clearing, of flickering firelight

When old-time lanes we strolled in the winter snows make white:

Where we can nod together above the logs and croon

The songs we sang when roving beneath the summer moon.