 | The white sail and other poems |  |
113
TEMPTATION.
I come where the wry road leads
Thro' the pines and the alder scents,
Sated of books, with a start,
Sharp on the gang to-day:
Scarce see the Romany steeds,
Scarce hear the flap of the tents,
When hillo! my heart, my heart
Is out of its leash, and away.
Thro' the pines and the alder scents,
Sated of books, with a start,
Sharp on the gang to-day:
Scarce see the Romany steeds,
Scarce hear the flap of the tents,
When hillo! my heart, my heart
Is out of its leash, and away.
Gypsies, gypsies, the whole
Tatterdemalion crew!
Brown and sly and severe
With curious trades in hand.
A string snaps in my soul,
The one high answer due
If an exile chance to hear
The songs of his fatherland.
Tatterdemalion crew!
Brown and sly and severe
With curious trades in hand.
A string snaps in my soul,
The one high answer due
If an exile chance to hear
The songs of his fatherland.
114
... To be abroad with the rain,
And at home with the forest hush,
With the crag, and the flower-urn,
And the wan sleek mist upcurled;
To break the lens and the plane,
To burn the pen and the brush,
And, clean and alive, return
Into the old wild world! ...
And at home with the forest hush,
With the crag, and the flower-urn,
And the wan sleek mist upcurled;
To break the lens and the plane,
To burn the pen and the brush,
And, clean and alive, return
Into the old wild world! ...
How is it? O wind that bears
The arrow from its mark,
The sea-bird from the sea,
The moth from his midnight lamp,
Fate's self, thou mocker of prayers!
Whirl up from the mighty dark,
And even so, even me
Blow far from the gypsy camp!
The arrow from its mark,
The sea-bird from the sea,
The moth from his midnight lamp,
Fate's self, thou mocker of prayers!
Whirl up from the mighty dark,
And even so, even me
Blow far from the gypsy camp!
| The white sail and other poems | |