Maiden With The Gipsy Look.

Maiden with the gipsy look,
Dusky locks and russet hue,
Open wide thy Sybil's book,
Tell my fate and tell it true;
Shall I live? or shall I die?
Timely wed, or single be?
Maiden with the gipsy eye,
Read my riddle unto me!

Maiden with the gipsy face,
If thou canst not tell me all,
Tell me thus much, of thy grace,
Should I climb, or fear to fall?
Should I dare, or dread to dare?
Should I speak, or silent be?
Maiden with the gipsy hair,
Read my riddle unto me!

Maiden with the gipsy hair,
Deep into thy mirror look,
See my love and fortune there,
Clearer than in Sybil's book:
Let me cross thy slender palm,
Let me learn my fate from thee;
Maiden with the gipsy charm,
Read my riddle unto me.

Juliana Horatia Ewing

Juliana Horatia Ewing was an English writer of children's stories, known for her pioneering work in the genre. Born on August 3, 1841, she was the daughter of Margaret Gatty, herself a noted British writer. Juliana's works were marked by their imaginative quality and their combination of adventure and moral lessons, making significant contributions to children's literature of the Victorian era. Her acclaimed works include 'Jackanapes,' 'Daddy Darwin's Dovecot,' and 'The Story of a Short Life.' She passed away on May 13, 1885.

Juliana Horatia Ewing

Teach Me.

Juliana Horatia Ewing, Simple Poetry

Anemones.

Juliana Horatia Ewing, Simple Poetry

My Love's Gift.

Juliana Horatia Ewing, Simple Poetry

Convalescence.

Juliana Horatia Ewing, Simple Poetry

English

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The Lady And The Dame

So thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest,
    To keep Time's perishing touch at bay
From the roseate splendour of the cheek so tender,
    And the silver threads from the gold away;
And the tell-tale years that have hurried by us
    Shall tiptoe back, and, with kind good-will,
They shall take their traces from off our faces,
    If we will trust to thy magic skill.

Thou speakest fairly; but if I listen
    And buy thy secret and prove its truth,
Hast thou the potion and magic lotion
    To give me also the heart of youth?
With the cheek of rose and the eye of beauty,
    And the lustrous locks of life's lost prime,
Wilt thou bring thronging each hope and longing
    That made the glory of that dead Time?

When the sap in the trees sets...

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The Gipsy Girl

'Come, try your skill, kind gentlemen,
A penny for three tries!'
Some threw and lost, some threw and won
A ten-a-penny prize.

She was a tawny gipsy girl,
A girl of twenty years,
I liked her for the lumps of gold
That jingled from her ears;

I liked the flaring yellow scarf
Bound loose about her throat,
I liked her showy purple gown
And flashy velvet coat.

A man came up, too loose of tongue,
And said no good to her;
She did not blush as Saxons do,
Or turn upon the cur;

She fawned and whined 'Sweet gentleman,
A penny for three tries!'
- But oh, the den of wild things in
The darkness of her eyes!

Ralph Hodgson

The Lady And The Dame

So, thou hast the art, good dame, thou swearest,
    To keep Time's perishing touch at bay
From the roseate splendour of the cheek so tender,
    And the silver threads from the gold away.
And the tell-tale years that have hurried by us
    Shall tip-toe back, and, with kind good-will,
They shall take the traces from off our faces,
    If we will trust to thy magic skill.

Thou speakest fairly; but if I listen
    And buy thy secret, and prove its truth,
Hast thou the potion and magic lotion
    To give me also the HEART of youth?
With the cheek of rose and the eye of beauty,
    And the lustrous looks of life's lost prime,
Wilt thou bring thronging each hope and longing
    That made the glory of that dead Time?

When the sap in the trees sets young...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

My Bride That Is To Be

O soul of mine, look out and see
My bride, my bride that is to be!
Reach out with mad, impatient hands,
And draw aside futurity
As one might draw a veil aside -
And so unveil her where she stands
Madonna-like and glorified -
The queen of undiscovered lands
Of love, to where she beckons me -
My bride - my bride that is to be.

The shadow of a willow-tree
That wavers on a garden-wall
In summertime may never fall
In attitude as gracefully
As my fair bride that is to be; -
Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown
As lightly flutter to the lawn
As fall her fairy-feet upon
The path of love she loiters down. -
O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet
Not one may stain her sandal wet -
Aye, she might dance upon the way
Nor crush a single...

James Whitcomb Riley

The Traveller And The Farm~Maiden.

HE.

Canst thou give, oh fair and matchless maiden,

'Neath the shadow of the lindens yonder,

Where I'd fain one moment cease to wander,
Food and drink to one so heavy laden?

SHE.

Wouldst thou find refreshment, traveller weary,

Bread, ripe fruit and cream to meet thy wishes,

None but Nature's plain and homely dishes,
Near the spring may soothe thy wanderings dreary.

HE.

Dreams of old acquaintance now pass through me,

Ne'er-forgotten queen of hours of blisses.

Likenesses I've often found, but this is
One that quite a marvel seemeth to me!

SHE.

Travellers often wonder beyond measure,

But their wonder soon see cause to smother;

Fair and dark are often like each other...

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Memorials Of A Tour On The Continent, 1820 - XXVII. - The Three Cottage Girls

I

How blest the Maid whose heart, yet free
From Love's uneasy sovereignty
Beats with a fancy running high,
Her simple cares to magnify;
Whom Labour, never urged to toil,
Hath cherished on a healthful soil;
Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf;
Whose heaviest sin it is to look
Askance upon her pretty Self
Reflected in some crystal brook;
Whom grief hath spared, who sheds no tear
But in sweet pity; and can hear
Another's praise from envy clear.

II

Such (but O lavish Nature! why
That dark unfathomable eye,
Where lurks a Spirit that replies
To stillest mood of softest skies,
Yet hints at peace to be o'erthrown,
Another's first, and then her own?)
Such, haply, yon Italian Maid,
Our Lady's laggard Votaress,
Halt...

William Wordsworth