Czytaj książkę: «Gypsy Verses»
Helen Hay Whitney
Gypsy Verses
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066218720
Table of Contents
ATARAH
AGE
LOVE AND DAWN
L’AMOUR AMBIGUEUX
SAPPHICS
SATAN, PRINCE OF DARKNESS
IN PRISON
GHOSTS
LILIS
THE OLD WOMEN
TO HIPPOLYTUS
THE GARDEN HEDGE
THE SLAVE WOMAN
SONG
SANS-JOY
OUT OF THE JUNGLE
IN PORT
SONNY BOY (A bust by H. F.)
SUNRISE
DEAD LADIES
WHEN TRISTAN SAILED
THE BATTLE
RECOMPENSE
THE LOTUS EATERS
LOST APHRODITE
THE FOOLS
THE AWAKENING
THE DARK WOMAN
SUMMER SONG
SERAPHIS
VENGEMENT
AUTUMN LOVE
I
II
THE WITCH
THE MAN
DOWN IN MALDONADO TOWN
THE CHOICE
THE BROOK
AT THE END OF THE WORLD
THE GYPSY
BOY O’ DREAMS
BALLAD OF THE SLAVE
FOAM
THE SEAL
RELEASE
SIN, THE SWORD
FANTASTIC SPRING
SONG
CONTRAST
THE PRICE
THE KING’S DAUGHTER
LAIS
THE HERITAGE
THE MONK IN HIS GARDEN
BIANCA
FREE
BLACK AND GOLD
THE ANSWER
PEACE
BARNABAS
LOST DREAMS
LADY OF LIGHT
SONG
THE GYPSY BLOOD
AND YET
THRO’ THE PLEACHED ALLEYS
Acknowledgment is made to Messrs. Harper and Brothers, the Century Company, and the Metropolitan Magazine for courteous permission to reproduce certain of the verses included in this volume.
GYPSY VERSES
Oh, you were not so idle—
You wore a sprig of green;
You wore a feather in your cap,
The reddest ever seen.
Your face was laughing gypsy brown,
Your eyes were of the blue;
You wandered up and down the world,
For you had much to do.
For oh, you were not idle,
Whatever men might say—
You made the colour of the year
Magnificent and gay.
ATARAH
Table of Contents
With painted slender folded hands
She waited what might come,
Her head was tyred with jewelled bands,
Her mouth was sweet and dumb.
Her cymar was of ardassine,
Fire red from throat to hem,
Broidered with Turkis stones therein—
She gave her soul for them.
Faint cassia and love-haunted myrrh
Made perilous her hair,
And what was Sidon’s woe to her
Whose face was king’s despair?
Nor life nor love from those cold lips,
But ah, in what degree,
Her passionate lover leans and sips
Her death-bright poesy.
AGE
Table of Contents
Blindness, and women wailing on white seas,
Seas where no placid sails have ever been,
Dreams like wan demons on waste marshes seen
Thro’ dulling, fevered eyes. The dregs and lees
Of wine long spilt to dead divinities.
Grey, empty days when Spring is never green,
Can the heart answer what these riddles mean—
Can the life hold such hopelessness as these?
Love lying low in the long pleasant grass,
Youth with his eager face against the sun,
They may not guess the hours when these shall pass,
In what drear coin such lovely dreams are paid,
At what grim cost their flowery days are won,
When man is old and lonely and afraid.
