Xxv

The Gypsy Blood

He gives me happiness, as flowers depend On loyal sun and shower. I look to love To give me life. Why is it not enough? Divine contentment, stretching without end O'er happy meadows. He's my love, my friend, And peace is in the word. You--heart's despair-- Sweep like a tempest through my sunsweet air, Wail like a lost soul through my blossomed grove.

Tempest and calm, with him my heart might rest, Lulled by eternal spring. The dream is blest, Yet the wild grapes you crush make life divine. Out in the pathless dark, all yours, I go, Brave with the purple promise of the wine. You, you I love, because you bring me woe.