I wandered far from my mother's tent;
Alone through the shade of the woods I went:
Where leaves grew greenest, where trees were high,
We met in the shadow, my love and I.
So kindly and fondly he gazed at me—
But he did not know I was Rommani.

He led me out where the sun shone down,
He looked at my face that was Gipsy-brown;
He looked in my eyes, and he took my hand;
He said, “You come from a distant land—
From a warmer country across the sea?”
I never told I was Rommani.

“Come, love!” he said. When I heard him call,

O! And I forsooth in love!
I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable,
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
This signor junior, giant-dwarf, dan Cupid;
Regent of love rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator and great general
Of trotting paritors: O my little heart!

It's not for nothing that I love you:
It's that others love my ruddy cheeks only—you love even my white hair.

It's not for nothing that I long for you:
It's that others love my smile only—you love even my tears.

It's not for nothing that I wait for you:
It's that others love only my health—you love even my death.

Thou art not near me, but I see Thine eyes,
Shine through the gloom like stars in winter skies—
Pointing the way my longing steps would go,
To come to Thee because I love Thee so.

Thou art not near me, but I feel Thine arm,
Soft folded round me, shielding me from harm,
Guiding me on as in the days of old—
Sometimes life seems so dark, so dreary and so cold.

Thou art not near me, but I hear Thee speak,
Sweet as the breath of June upon my cheek,
And as Thou speakest I forget my fears,
And all the darkness, and my lonely tears.

Natcha, offering love,
For ten shillings offering love.
Offering: A night with me, honey.
A long, sweet night with me.
Come, drink palm wine.
Come, drink kisses.
A long, dream night with me.

Father John's bread was made of rye,
Felicite's bread was white;
Father John loved the sun noon-high,
Felicite, the moon at night.

Father John drank wine with his bread;
Felicite drank sweet milk;
Father John loved flowers, pungent and red;
Felicite, lilies soft as silk.

Father John's soul was made of bronze,
That God's salt was corroding;
Felicite's soul was a wind that runs
With a blue flame of foreboding.

Between these two was the shadow of a dome
That cut their lives in twain;
But Dionysus led them home
In a chariot of pain.

Fair face the Greeks had worshipped, have you come
With me to make your home?
You look at me with those deep, haunting eyes,
And all my life replies.

The silence thrills with vague, bewitching tone;
I am no more alone:
I who have sat upon the shore of Time,
Coaxing my lute to rhyme,

Feel in my heart, at impulse of your will,
Youth's eager music thrill;
And since the years have left me not so old,
Now their long tale is told,

But I can love the lovely, and be glad,
I hide the cypress wreath I had
For garland, and adorn me with the rose

Heartsease I found, where Love-lies-bleeding
Empurpled all the ground:
Whatever flowers I missed unheeding,
Heartsease I found.

Yet still my garden mound
Stood sore in need of watering, weeding,
And binding growths unbound.

Ah, when shades fell to light succeeding
I scarcely dared look round:
“Love-lies-bleeding” was all my pleading,
Heartsease I found.

I LAY upon my narrow bed,
And dreamed life's happy moments o'er;
I thought that love my footsteps led
Beside a pleasant shore.

Care for a moment loosed its grasp,
And breathing deep the fragrant brine,—
My hand locked in my lover's clasp,—
I felt his pulses throb with mine;

And dear contentment seemed my right,—
There roaming from the world apart;
I saw his eyes, I felt their light
Beam through the shadows, in my heart;

And waves, and trees—all nature—sang
A paeon by that pleasant shore.
Then I awoke, and with a pang

Going my way of old
Contented more or less
I dreamt not life could hold
Such happiness.

I dreamt not that love's way
Could keep the golden height
Day after happy day,
Night after night.