  Over the hills and across the plain, Treading their gypsy way, Ragged and penniless, vagrants twain Went with a child one day. Sunburnt and barefooted was the man, Poor was the woman’s dress, Over the baby the sunbeams ran, Winds gave him soft caress. “Brother o’ mine,” said the summer rain, “Brother o’ mine,” said he, “Take you the vagabond’s joy and pain, Vagabond shall you be. “Banned by the rich and the folk of power, Outcasts shall love you well; Harlots and thieves in your dying hour Closest to you shall dwell. “Never a home nor abiding place Where you may rest your load; Ever the starlight on your face, Ever the open road. “Brother o’ mine,” said the summer rain, “Brother o’ mine,” said he, “Take you the vagabond’s joy and pain, Vagabond shall you be.” |
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