My only pair of pants had a hole in the seat.
A dreamy stripling, as I tramped my willful ways
I tossed my rhymes to the winds, my one inn the Great
Bear, whose stars in my heavens made gentle rustlings.
And hunkered down at the roadside, I'd hark at them
On sweet September evenings, as I'd feel the drops
Of dew sprinkling my forehead, like robust new wines;
Or amid fantastic shadows running through my rhythms
I would haul on the laces, like strings of a lyre,
On my busted boots, one foot heaved up to my heart!