The Dreamers

The gypsies passed her little gate— She stopped her wheel to see,— A brown-faced pair who walked the road, Free as the wind is free; And suddenly her tidy room A prison seemed to be. Her shining plates against the walls, Her sunlit, sanded floor, The brass-bound wedding chest that held Her linen's snowy store, The very wheel whose humming died,— Seemed only chains she bore. She watched the foot-free gypsies pass; She never knew or guessed The wistful dream that drew them close— The longing in each breast Some day to know a home like hers, Wherein their hearts might rest.