My life she takes between her hands;
My spirit at her feet
Is taught the lore inscrutable [,]
The wisdom bitter sweet.

The world becomes a little thing;
Art, travel, music, men,
And all that these can ever give
Are in her brow's white ken.

I look into her eyes and learn
The mystery of tears;
The pang of doubt; the doom that haunts
The fleeting of the years;

And pale foreknowledge, hid from all
But those who fear to know;
And memory's treason, that betrays
Joy to the nameless woe;

Compassion, like the rain of spring;

O come while youth's bright rosy veil
Beguiles your eyes and mine,
Let's tread the asphodel of bliss,
And drink life's magic wine:
Soon time will rend the gossamer,
To wisdom's cruelty,
While we are blind, my love, be kind,
For soon, too soon, we see!

Here awa', there awa', here awa' Willie,
Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame;
Long have I sought thee, dear have I bought thee,
Now have I gotten my Willie again.

Thro' the lang muir I have follow'd my Willie,
Thro' the lang muir I have follow'd him hame;
Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us;
Love now rewards all my sorrow and pain.

Here awa', there awa', here awa' Willie,
Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame;
Come Love, believe me, nothing can grieve me;
Ilka thing pleases while Willie 's at hame.

I DARE to love you in the face of death:
Not death that's near at hand, but sure to come
Some day, somewhere, when drawing further breath
Refuses issue, as the lips go dumb.

We take our heaven in the moment's touch;
Our hands are lifted to protest the Fate
That waits all lovers, be they small or much;
The dust that chokes delirium, soon or late.

With such dark certainty to block our bliss,
Nathless, the central fire that floods the soul,
Shines but the brighter, and our every kiss
Trembles with rapture that defies the goal.

And thus it is with all that made life fair,
Gone with the freshness that it used to wear.
'Tis sad to mark the ravage that the heart
Makes of itself; how one by one depart
The colours that made hope. We seek, we find;
And find, too, charm has, with the change, declined.
Many things have I loved, that now to me
Are as a marvel how they loved could be;
Yet, on we go, desiring to the last
Illusions vain, as any in the past.

O may I dare I breath a word
That thy young heart hath never heard
From me—& yet thy timid eye
Turns on me tenderly & shy
A look that often bids me move
My plea & intercede for love.

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.