p. 5

III

So little dost thou seem of common earth, So much of spirit doth thy fabric show, That we, who watch thee through the azure glow, Might deem that with the stars thou cam’st to birth.

So

So sweet and true the voices from thy spire, Which bless the day’s betrothal unto night, That when they falter with the fading light, We well might think an angel touched his lyre.

If chiselled stone and molten bronze instil Hopes deeper than the fountains of my tears, And love that hungers for eternity,

God, I believe Thou hast some use for me; Leave me no life of dumb and sluggard years, But cut or melt me till I speak Thy will.

p. 6IV TO THE ENGLISH GIPSIES [6]

p. 6

IV

Rough swarthy Gipsy folk, Would that my voice could once forget to falter, And sing a song as free as swallows’ wings Of ancient Gipsies, and their “dukes” and “kings,” The men who braved the branding-rod and halter, Because like birds they nimbly came and went, And loved the stars and road, and crouching tent Beneath a grove of oak.

Rough

In ages long ago The Brahman priests pursued you with their curses, Because you found life sweeter at the core Without the mumbling of their magic lore. And you have lived to see their Sanskrit verses Fall dead; and Brahmans, like mere Romany, Now tempt their gods by trusting to the sea, Though trembling while they go.

p. 7Then hardened against fear You looted caravans of gold-shot dresses And gems upon their way to bright Baghdad, And drove the Moslem Khalif rampant mad, When pearls culled from the ocean for the tresses Of his Circassian, in your pouches fell, As trifles to adorn the dusky shell Of some black virgin’s ear.

p. 7

Next Greece and Thessaly Became the home of many a jocund roamer, Who gaily danced, or begged with mien forlorn, And patched his Indian speech where it was torn With 

 Prev. P 17/45 next