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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396698" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Stave Of Roving Tim</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(ADDRESSED TO CERTAIN FRIENDLY TRAMPS.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wind is East, the wind is West,<br>Blows in and out of haven;<br>The wind that blows is the wind that's best,<br>And croak, my jolly raven!<br>If here awhile we jigged and laughed,<br>The like we will do yonder;<br>For he's the man who masters a craft,<br>And light as a lord can wander.<br>So, foot the measure, Roving Tim,<br>And croak, my jolly raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You live in rows of snug abodes,<br>With gold, maybe, for counting;<br>And mine's the beck of the rainy roads<br>Against the sun a-mounting.<br>I take the day as it behaves,<br>Nor shiver when 'tis airy;<br>But comes a breeze, all you are on waves,<br>Sick chickens o' Mother Carey!<br>So, now for next, cries Roving Tim,<br>And croak, my jolly raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet lass, you screw a lovely leer,<br>To make a man consider.<br>If you were up with the auctioneer,<br>I'd be a handsome bidder.<br>But wedlock clips the rover's wing;<br>She tricks him fly to spider;<br>And when we get to fights in the Ring,<br>It's trumps when you play outsider.<br>So, wrench and split, cries Roving Tim,<br>And croak, my jolly raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Along my winding way I know<br>A shady dell that's winking;<br>The very corner for Self and Co<br>To do a world of thinking.<br>And shall I this? and shall I that?<br>Till Nature answers, ne'ther!<br>Strike match and light your pipe in your hat,<br>Rejoicing in sound shoe-leather!<br>So lead along, cries Roving Tim,<br>And croak, my jolly raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A cunning hand 'll hand you bread,<br>With freedom for your capers.<br>I'm not so sure of a cunning head;<br>It steers to pits or vapours.<br>But as for Life, we'll bear in sight<br>The lesson Nature teaches;<br>Regard it in a sailoring light,<br>And treat it like thirsty leeches.<br>So, fly your jib, cries Roving Tim,<br>And top your boom, old raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She'll take, to please her dame and dad,<br>The shopman nicely shaven.<br>She'll learn to think o' the marching lad<br>When perchers show they're craven.<br>You say the shopman piles a heap,<br>While I perhaps am fasting;<br>And bless your wits, it haunts him in sleep,<br>His tin-kettle chance of lasting!<br>So hail the road, cries Roving Tim,<br>And hail the rain, old raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He's half a wife, yon pecker bill;<br>A book and likewise preacher.<br>With any soul, in a game of skill,<br>He'll prove your over-reacher.<br>The reason is, his brains are bent<br>On doing things right single.<br>You'd wish for them when pitching your tent<br>At night in a whirly dingle!<br>So, off we go, cries Roving Tim,<br>And on we go, old raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lord, no, man's lot is not for bliss;<br>To call it woe is blindness:<br>It'll here a kick, and it's there a kiss,<br>And here and there a kindness.<br>He starts a hare and calls her joy;<br>He runs her down to sorrow:<br>The dogs within him bother the boy,<br>But 'tis a new day to-morrow.<br>So, I at helm, cries Roving Tim,<br>And you at bow, old raven!<br>The wind according to its whim<br>Is in and out of haven.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Meredith">George Meredith</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=396698" data-title="A Stave Of Roving Tim de George Meredith" data-description="(ADDRESSED TO CERTAIN FRIENDLY TRAMPS.)


I

The wind is East, the wind is West,
Blows in and out of haven;
The wind that blows is the wind that's best,
And croak, my jolly raven!
If here awhile we jigged and laughed,
The like we will do yonder;
F..."></div>
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