The Gypsy Blood

Because the lover cares for daffodils
Must we be stranger to the passion flower,
Or slight the iris, dewy from a shower?
The gypsy heather bloom upon the hill
Strikes fiercely on a gypsy heart, and thrills
New argosies of dreams to sail the hours.
No rosy perfume blown from garden bowers
May bear the subtle perfume this distills.

Must we forego the dreamy twilight stars
Because the true-love lives for morning sun?
Love dare not hold the sense behind such bars.
The moon drips scented petals on our hair,
And gypsy hearts to gypsy flowers must run
While life is everything, tho’ love be fair.