Page:Songs from Vagabondia (1897).djvu/66

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Bobolincolns in the meadows,Leisure in the purple shadows,
Till the poppies without numberBowed their heads in crimson slumber,
And the twilight came to coverEvery unreluctant lover.
Not a night but some brown maidenBettered all the dusk she strayed in,
While the roses in her hairBankrupted oblivion there.
Oh, but life went gayly, gayly,In the house of Idiedaily!
But this hostelry, The Barrow,With its chambers, bare and narrow,
Mean, ill-windowed, damp, and wormy,Where the silence makes you squirmy,
And the guests are never seen to,Is a vile place, a mere lean-to,
Not a traveller speaks well of,Even worse than I heard tell of,
Mouldy, ramshackle, and foul.What a dwelling for a soul!

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