I am a gipsy woman wild,
With the teasing eyes of a little child;
A roving, wandering lass am I,
With never afar as the days go by.
My caravan is the wide, fresh air;
My steed, the sun with his yellow hair.
Will you ride awhile, and glide awhile,
At the spell of my gipsy smile?
I am a hag-thing, old and grey,
With a dying babe at my breast of clay;
A hungry soul on the night afloat,
And the long sobs thick in my thirsty throat.
My home's the plain, the low, brown plain;
My food the dust, all dry with pain.
Will you bear with me, and care for me,
In the hour of my misery?
I am the terrible life in death.
Beware, beware of my scarlet breath!
A spectre, talking the world unseen,
In a black, black robe 'neath a mantle green!
My heart's the fire, the blood-red fire;
My soul, the dream of its lost desire.
Will you brave an hour, and slave an hour
'Gainst the wrath of my fatal power?
I am a siren, singing joy
In the ocean depths to a mad "ahoy!"
A wooing witch in the heart if the sea,
With a tang of mirth in my melody.
My ship's the sea -- the open sea;
My sails, the winds that gather free.
Will you trip a day, and slip a day,
To the song of my laughing spray?
Sing ho! for the gipsy, ho! for the sea,
And a long, long sigh for misery!
Who cares for the flame, and the bag of death,
When my world is a bubble of morning breath?
First published in The Lone Hand, 26 January 1920
