To The Gypsy Man

Is there no room in your gypsy heart Where a woman's love might lie Warm and sheltered, your prize and song, As you wander beneath the sky?

No, for you say, "I'll carry no weight, I must be free, be free; I'll carry no love in my gypsy heart To make a drag for me."

Little you know, then, love is the cloak That shelters you from the storm; Love makes the shoes for your gypsy feet, Love is your coat so warm.

Though you take no purse and you take no staff You cannot escape the load Of a woman's longing and woman's love That follows you down the road.

THERE IS NO DANGER IN DISDAIN

There is no danger in disdain, No grief in perfidy; The meek they are who taste of pain And matchless misery.

The hearts who give, and giving, die, Could they but learn the way To take, and laugh and then deny, They still might live their day.