The Vagabond

The deep delved path winds in the wood, chasing with ghost-breaths and leafy hoods, arbor-brawn the winnowed path crooks along; whispering with what future song? To ill desire and inches from hope, plodding the cool of Earth alone? ...and the road behind pretends to love, waltzing with garland worlds, old friends long time not heard --- gray and forsaken on the projector wall, how wan this dying rose! and pallid the day which broods... Old Lucifer playing his lute at every high road; Life had once played a tune more fair; and soft the notes in the morning air, with wife and child --- the world had watched without despair, a man to be called a man, with land and two strong hands to till the new earth-wares; But his monsters had come and bid him to stare too long into the glitter of gold, and the gusting crooks in the road... alone, forsaken... a mere shadow of a man; Though they called him king, (he cried alone)