VAGRANT VERSE

Southland Times, Issue 20524, 28 June 1928, Page 6

VAGRANT VERSE

A GYPSY SANG.

A gypsy sang of a thousand nights; She sang at the palace gate. With her little hand in the old King’s hand, The young Queen slumbered late,

But when the gold of the morning sun <4«ay pale on her golden bed, The old King slept and the young Queen waked And she stirred in her silks and said:

“Gypsy, strumming a spent guitar, Barren and brown and small, Your lips are smirched with a thousand songs And I have no song at all,

“Your heart is light with a thousand loves And all of your loves were true, You sing so shrill that you will not heat, But I have a word for you.

“Too long I have lain in a loveless bed, But I have waked and prayed. Too soft have I mothered an unborn dream, But never a dream betrayed.

“In the healing clasp of the brooding dark, While the King breathes deep and slow, My heart has thrilled to a silent song That only the silent know:

‘‘Love is no quarry to stalk and chase And harry and lose and sight, But a silent god with a shining face That waits in the patient night.

“Will you never barter your thousand dreams For my dream that you dream not of? And cease to seek for a thousand love* When there is no bve but Love?” —by Louise Dutton in Tie World (N.Y.)