What would you do, I bid you say,
With feet that will not keep the way,
But ever go a-wandering,
Like any vagrant, wilding thing,
Or be it dawn or dusk of day?

They needs must leap each upland stile,
Let every glade or copse beguile,
And, leisurely as noon, explore
The curvings of each rillet's shore
Thick-set with cress and camomile.

A crest is like a rainbow lure
Unto a child; a wood is sure
To lead them into windings far
From beam of sun or gleam of star
To secresies the trees immure.

Ah, youth is fair, and youth is fleet,
And all God's fields and woods are sweet!
Why set a bond, why set a snare,
Howe'er or wheresoe'er they fare,
About the tracks of truant feet?