Canonical poem · POEM-000335

I'll Tell You What, You Wanderers

I'll tell you what you wanderers, who drift from town to town;Don't look into a good girl's eyes, until you've settled down.It's hard to go away alone and leave old chums behind--It's hard to travel steerage when your tastes are more refined--To reach a place when times are bad, and to be standing there,No money in your pocket nor a decent rag to wear.But be forced from that fond clasp, from that last clinging kiss--By poverty! There is on earth no harder thing than this.