The burning soul, the burdened mind.
In books alone companions find.
His blunders never annoy him and he is
chirrupy under a mountain of mistakes.
Very oft, when I am dull with care and
Lightens my humor with her merry jests.
Oh, daughter of the gods divinely tall.
The laughter of Edith is and ever was.
Among the delightful sounds of the earth.
His dark persive eye
Speaks the high soul, the thought sublime
That dwells on immortality.
Give her health and a day, and she will
make ridiculous the pomp of emperors.
Dignity and love do not blend well or
continue long together.
Ah, how the soft blushes tinge her cheek!
He doth nothing but frown as who should
say, and if you will not have me, choose,
and hears merry tales and smiles not.
Diffidence and awkwardness are the two
antidotes to love.
His curly locks crown his head.
The Song of Spring
When spring time wakes on hill and dale
It enters the gypsy blood.
It sings the song of pass and trail,
It sings of the good green wood.
It wakes the wand'ring soul again.
It sends us forth from the haunts of men;
And the sun will shine and the moon will wane
On our twisting path e'er we turn again,
And lay us down in peach.
South we follow the Romany road,
Or North over heath and healther;
It mataters not where-but to us is a goal
The voice of the spring time weather.
Wherever the gypsy blood may run
No matter the wide world over,
Though we bask in the warmth of a tropical sun,
Or lie in the sweet spring clover,
The longing comes to us one and all,
So strong, and so wild, and so sweet;
And it's Oh! to roam till the brown leaves fall
With the trail running free neath our feet.
The spring time calls to the gypsy heart,
It calls, and we dare not stay,
It calls to the soul in every part,
"Gypsy, up and away."
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