And all that irked him in his bound employ
Once more become a vagrom-hearted boy
He moves to roundelays and jocund airs；
Loitering with dusty harvestmen he shares
Old ale and sunshine； or with maids half-coy
Pays court to shadows； fools himself with joy
Shaking a leg at junketings and fairs.
Sometimes returning down his breezy miles
A snatch of wayward April he will bring
Piping the daffodilly that beguiles
Foolhardy lovers in the surge of spring.
And then once more by lanes and field-path stiles
Up the green world he wanders like a king.