THE GYPSY MAID
She met them on the forest edge,
A maid all brown and slim,
She beckoned them to leave the path
That girt the forest rim.
A maid all brown and slim,
She beckoned them to leave the path
That girt the forest rim.
At first they shake their heads at her,
At last they follow meek,
She smiles at them with crimson lips,
And sweet her bright eyes speak.
At last they follow meek,
She smiles at them with crimson lips,
And sweet her bright eyes speak.
They go as in a faëry dream,
The forest shuts them round,
Save for the leaves that whisper low
They hear no earthly sound.
The forest shuts them round,
Save for the leaves that whisper low
They hear no earthly sound.
The quiet miles have grown to leagues,
The trees are strange and tall,
They listen for the gypsy's steps
And follow where they fall.
The trees are strange and tall,
They listen for the gypsy's steps
And follow where they fall.
She sings a song of Wander-land,
For very joy they weep:
Adown the hills the dying day
Soft like a cloud doth creep.
For very joy they weep:
Adown the hills the dying day
Soft like a cloud doth creep.
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