I SHALL go on the gypsies' road, The road that has no ending; For the sedge is brown on the lone lake side, The wild geese eastward tending. I shall go as the unfettered wave, From shore to shore, forgetting The grief that lies 'neath a roof-tree's shade, The years that bring regretting. No law shall dare my wandering stay, No man my acres measure; The world was made for the gypsies' feet, The winding road for pleasure. And I shall drift as the pale leaf strayed, Whither the wild wind listed, I shall sleep in the dark of the hedge, 'Neath rose and thorn entwisted. This was a call in the heart of the night, A whispering dream's dear treasure. 'The world was made for the nomads' feet, The winding road for pleasure.' I stole at dawn from my roof-tree's shade, And the cares that it did cover; I flew to the heart of the fierce north wind, As a maid will greet her lover. But a thousand hands did draw me back And bid me to their tending; I may not go on the gypsies' road— The road that has no ending. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CAMOMILE TEA by KATHERINE MANSFIELD THE WHITE SHIP by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT; GEORGE III AND A DYING WOMAN IN WINDSOR FOREST by ROBERT SOUTHEY SIX O'CLOCK by TRUMBULL STICKNEY WHEN HE EMERGED by MARGARET AHO |