[Gutenberg 42171] • Gypsy Verses

Gypsy Verses. By Helen Hay Whitney. Gypsy Romance, Love, Hardship and Dreams. FREE Beyond the hill the hearth fires burn, A hundred flags in air, But one which tossed but yesterday Is dead, one hearth is bare. The wife whose fingers fed the fire Grew weary of the play, A lad laughed thro' the open door And stole my dear away. And now alone I face the road; No hearth, no home for me. And yet-Ah Life!-come sun, come rain, My beggar soul is free. THE GYPSY BLOOD Because the lover cares for daffodils Must we be stranger to the passion flower, Or slight the iris, dewy from a shower? The gypsy heather bloom upon the hill Strikes fiercely on a gypsy heart, and thrills New argosies of dreams to sail the hours. No rosy perfume blown from garden bowers May bear the subtle perfume this distills. Must we forego the dreamy twilight stars Because the true-love lives for morning sun? Love dare not hold the sense behind such bars. The moon drips scented petals on our hair, And gypsy hearts to gypsy flowers must run While life is everything, tho' love be fair.