The Gypsying

I wish we might go gypsying one day the while we're young--
On a blue October morning
Beneath a cloudless sky,
When all the world's a vibrant harp
The winds o' God have strung,
And gay as tossing torches the maples light us by;
The rising sun before us--a golden bubble swung--
I wish we might go gypsying one day the while we're young.

I wish we might go gypsying one day before we're old--
To step it with the wild west wind
And sing the while we go,
Through far forgotten orchards
Hung with jewels red and gold;
Through cool and fragrant forests where never sun may show,
To stand upon a high hill and watch the mist unfold--
I wish we might go gypsying one day before we're old.

I wish we might go gypsying, dear lad, the while we care--
The while we've heart for hazarding,
The while we've will to sing,
The while we've wit to hear the call
And youth and mirth to spare,
Before a day may find us too sad for gypsying,
Before a day may find us too dull to dream and dare--
I wish we might go gypsying, dear lad, the while we care.

Theodosia Garrison

Theodosia Garrison was an American poet known for her lyrical and often melancholic verse. Born on May 26, 1874, her poetry often explored themes of love, loss, and introspection. Throughout her career, Garrison contributed to various literary magazines and became a respected figure in the early 20th-century literary circles. She passed away on August 27, 1944, leaving behind a legacy of poignant and expressive poetry.

Theodosia Garrison

The Seer Of Hearts

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

Three Songs In A Garden III

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

The Unknowing

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

The Empty House

Theodosia Garrison, Simple Poetry

English

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Gypsying

Gypsying, gypsying, through the world together,
Never mind the way we go, never mind what port.
Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather:
While we journey hand in hand, everything is sport.

Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry:
Never mind the 'if' and 'but' (words for coward lips).
Put them out with 'fear' and 'doubt,' in the pack with 'hurry,'
While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships.

Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls us;
Never mind what others say, or what others do.
Everywhere or foul or fair, liking what befalls us:
While you have me at your side, and while I have you.

Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow;
Never mind the why of it, since it suits our mood.
Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those ...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The Gipsy's Song

    The gipsy's life is a merry life,
    And ranting boys we be;
    We pay to none or rent or tax,
    And live untith'd and free.
    None care for us, for none care we,
    And where we list we roam,
    And merry boys we gipsies be,
    Though the wild woods are our home.

    And come what will brings no dismay;
    Our minds are ne'er perplext;
    For if to-day is a swaly day,
    We meet with luck the next.
    And thus we sing and kiss our mates,
    While our chorus still shall be,--
    Bad luck to tyrant magistrates,
    And the gipsies' camp still free.

    To mend old pans and bottom chairs
    Around the towns we tramp,
    Then a day or two our purse repairs,
    And plenty fills our camp;
    And our song we sin...

John Clare

Gipsy Too

If they missed my face in Farmers Arms
When the landlord lit the lamp,
They would grin and say in their country way,
Oh! hes down at the Gipsy camp!
But theyd read of things in the Daily Mail
That the wild Australians do,
And I cared no day what the world might say,
For I came of the Gipsies too.
Oh! the Gipsy crowd are a mongrel lot,
And a thieving lot and sly!
But Id dined on fowls in the far-off south,
And a mongrel lot was I.
Oh! the Gipsy crowd are a roving gang,
And a sulky, silent crew!
But they managed a smile and a word for me,
For I came of the Gipsies too.

And the old queen looked in my palm one day,
And a shrewd old dame was she:
My pretty young gent, you may say your say,
You may laugh your laugh at me;
But...

Henry Lawson

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.

Theodosia Garrison

Gipsies

I.

There's a scent of pungent wood smoke in the chill October air,
And a jack-o'-lantern glare, a wild and dusky glare,
'Tis the brush that burns and smoulders in the woods and by the ways,
The old New England ways,
When Autumn plants her gipsy tents and camps with all her days,
Along the shore, among the hills, beside the sounding sea,
And fills the land with haze of dreams and fires of mystery.

II.

There's a sound of crickets crooning, and an owlet's quavering tune,
And a rim of frosty moon, a will-o'-wisp of moon,
And a camp-fire in a hollow of the ocean-haunted hills,
The old New England hills,
When Autumn keeps her tryst with Earth and cures his soul of ills:
And day and night he sits with her and hearkens to her dreams,
While, like a ghost, ...

Madison Julius Cawein

Gypsy Songs

I

The faery beam upon you,
The stars to glister on you;
A moon of light
In the noon of night,
Till the fire-drake hath oergone you!
The wheel of fortune guide you,
The boy with the bow beside you;
Run ay in the way
Till the bird of day,
And the luckier lot betide you!

II

To the old, long life and treasure!
To the young all health and pleasure!
To the fair, their face
With eternal grace
And the soul to be loved at leisure!
To the witty, all clear mirrors;
To the foolish, their dark errors;
To the loving sprite,
A secure delight;
To the jealous, his own false terrors!

Ben Jonson