TO A VAGABOND - Constance Woodrow Poems


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But half of me is woman grown;
     The other half is child.
But half my heart loves quiet ways;
     The other half is wild.
And so to hear your gypsy song
     I dare not come again;
To-morrow, when the twilight falls,
     Your voice will lure in vain.

For all of you is vagabond
     And all of you is free;
Your feet roam still the winding trails
     That now are strange to me.
My gypsy feet are captive held
     Within a garden-space
Since I renounced the whole wide world
     For one belovèd face.