I wish I lived in a caravan, With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man! Where he comes from nobody knows, Nor where he goes to, but on he goes. His caravan has windows two, With a chimney of tin that the smoke comes through, He has a wife, and a baby brown, And they go riding from town to town. Chairs to mend and delf to sell -- He clashes the basins like a bell. Tea-trays, baskets, ranged in order, Plates, with the alphabet round the border. The roads are brown, and the sea is green, But his house is just like a bathing-machine. The world is round, but he can ride, Rumble, and splash to the other side. With the pedlar-man I should like to roam, And write a book when I come home. All the people would read my book, Just like the Travels of Captain Cook. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NEGRO DANCERS by CLAUDE MCKAY ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA TO MR. S.T. COLERIDGE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MAIDENHOOD by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW REQUIEM FOR ONE SLAIN IN BATTLE by GEORGE LUNT LOST AND FOUND by GEORGE MACDONALD LOUISA MAY ALCOTT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON |