Explore "A Waif" by Bliss Carman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Do you know what it is to be vagrant born? / A waif is only a waif. And so, / For another idle hour I sit, / In large content while the fire burns low.
I gossip here to my crony heart / Of the day just over, and count it one / Of the royal elemental days, / Though its dreams were few and its deeds were none.
Outside, the winter; inside, the warmth / And a sweet oblivion of turmoil. Why? / All for a gentle girlish hand / With its warm and lingering good-bye.