Word: vagabondism
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...around in leopard loin-cloths, hunting wild boars for supper, and made fire to cook by rubbing two sticks together. These ancestors never knew what twelve million dollars looked like, but they had better teeth than Mr. Harkness and could make love better than any Harvard man." The Vagabond lifted himself up as far as he was able...
Sirens shrieked and cars pulled to the curbstone as the ambulance, with two young men in white coats in the window, raced down Massachusetts Avenue. Inside, rolling about on a cot was the Vagabond, who had been hit by a truck just ten minutes ago while trying to cross the street. His face was burning, and the men in white kept looking down at him and then talking to each other. They looked cloudy and very far away. Even the sirens sounded far away, like the Lowell House bells that woke him up last Sunday morning. The Vagabond was badly...
...even this question in the Vagabond's mind that suggests perhaps the old masters are right: Plato, Coleridge, Wordsworth. Perhaps there is a magisterial sanctity of childhood, when...
...spark for the old fellow is gone. And even as the poet in his famous ode on immortality asks what has become of the freshness of that dream which appareled the earth so beautifully, the Vagabond wonders,--as he regrets the passing--what has become of his youthful love for a poet whom he followed at one time so zealously...
Whatever the case, be assured the happy Vagabond will not fret too much about it. Professor Lowes is lecturing on the Odes of Wordsworth today at 12 in the Fogg large Room. Those interested will find a stimulating lecture. As for the Vagabond, there are happier thoughts. Immortality? Perhaps the poet is right. But have you seen the foliage? It's on the wane...