The Vagabound

The Vagabond A vagabond, or so it was thought Carried his belongings over his shoulder I was young, he, not that much older He was so handsome, but conceited not I wondered at the magic he brought A gentleman was he, his manners were self Taught, I blushed when he smiled at me, I had been Caught, I smiled back, his eyes seemed to smolder If passion was his true intent His gifts could be heaven sent Alas, he was but a vagabond And I am a Demoiselle Did he follow me down by the pond? The answer, I will never tell