I would pray
My gypsie prayer, again, at close of day!

I love my king -- for he has given me
Rare pearls, the treasure of a sighing sea,
And rubies, red as sunset clouds a-glow
And opals like the wistful winds that blow
At twilight-time.

But I would wear, instead,
Wild forest flowers, twined about my head --
And I would dance, barefooted, on the sod,
An innovation to my pagan God!

Am I a queen? What is this crown I wear?
I tear it from my smoothly plaited hair --
I lay my ring, my rope of pearls, aside;
Am I a queen -- am I a monarch's bride?
The soul of me is still a gypsie thing --
I pull them off, the glowing gems, the ring. . . .

I love my king, I love him well -- but, oh,
GIVE ME MY RAGS, AGAIN, AND LET ME GO!



FRAGMENTS

A WITHERED ROSE