Читать книгу Bar-Room Ballads - Robert William Service - Страница 9

GIPSY

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The poppies that in Spring I sow,

In rings of radiance gleam and glow,

Like lords and ladies gay.

A joy are they to dream beside,

As in the air of eventide

They flutter, dip and sway.

For some are scarlet, some are gold,

While some in fairy flame unfold,

And some are rose and white.

There’s pride of breeding in their glance,

And pride of beauty as they dance

Cotillions of delight.

Yet as I lift my eyes I see

Their swarthy kindred, wild and free,

Who flaunt it in the field.

“Begone, you Romanies!” I say,

“Lest you defile this bright array

Whose loveliness I shield.”

My poppies are a sheen of light;

They take with ecstasy the sight,

And hold the heart elate....

Yet why do I so often turn

To where their outcast brothers burn

With passion at my gate?

My poppies are my joy and pride;

Yet wistfully I gaze outside

To where their sisters yearn;

Their blousy crimson cups afire.

Their lips aflutter with desire

To give without return.

My poppies dance a minuet;

Like courtiers in silk they set

My garden all aglow....

Yet O the vagrants at my gate!

The gipsy trulls who peer and wait! ...

Calling the heart they know.

Bar-Room Ballads

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