In stained and broken coat, with untrimmed hedge
Of rusty beard and curling sunburnt hair;
His hat, once white, a dull uncertain cone;
His leathery hands and cheeks, his bright blue eyes
That always see new faces and strange dogs;
His mouth that laughs at life and at himself.
Sometimes they shut you up in jail—
Dark, and a filthy cell;
I hope the fellows built them jails
Find ’em down in hell.