Death bars me from my garden, but by the dusty road Glints many a vagrant blossom the wind's caprices sowed. Death locks my door against me and flings the golden key To sink with many another beneath the moaning sea. But there are haunts for gypsies upon the heather moors, Where we share with one another the lore of out-of-doors; And gypsy tells to gypsy what healing herbs are best When the old wound starts a-throbbing and starlight brings no rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS by HENRY GLASSFORD BELL EPODE: 2. THE PRAISES OF A COUNTRY LIFE by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS IN PROGRESS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI NATIONAL ODE; INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA by BAYARD TAYLOR AN EPISTLE TO CURIO by MARK AKENSIDE BRUCE: HOW AYMER DE VALENCE, AND JOHN OF LORN CHASED THE BRUCE ... by JOHN BARBOUR WRITTEN ON WHITSUN-MONDAY, 1795 by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS |