Author Dorothy Wordsworth I gathered mosses in Easedale. I saw before me, Sitting in the open field Upon his pack of rags, The old Ragman that I know. His coat is of scarlet in a thousand patches. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments