To My Comrade, Vagabond

Come, comrade Vagabond,
Down the dust-garbed path, let's sniff
The choking ash that shrouds the blooms,
Let's make our way together; not upon
The highway where the coaches roll,
And the footcloths drag the dust-laid way,
But down the dell, past the footpath
Where the briars hide the nests
And the sweetest flowers bloom.
Come, comrade Vagabond, make me thy fellow.
Give me thy sun-browned hand;
Let me know thy song; let me stumble on thy way,
Tearing my raiment, knowing the things
Of little worth; where the snail hangs,
And the thrush nests, and where the grain
Sags through the field's middle
Leaving a path for the coming moon.
Let me know the sky, the rugged sky,
Which pours rains upon thee
And spits fire through the turmoiled cloud;
Make ye the path open before me,
Lay the briars apart that I may follow thee.
Let me know thy nights,
The nights so full that once seemed empty.
Let me hear the nightbird's fright,
And the waking of things from their deeper slumber;
Even the cart wheels would I know when they creak
At waking; and the cock when he blasts
His brassy notes through the golden morn.
Come, comrade Vagabond, show me the way!