once, before her voice went (tragically, and before a crowded audience, maybe), patting my hand with her bony one the time—as far as I can remember or reconstruct—
You have come, by bush and town,
From where blue-eyed men are brown,
Drought and rain and sun and shade
Gipsies born and gipsies made,
Follow still the gipsy trade.
Children pray in Sunday school
For princes who shall never rule.
Folk do many foolish things
For the kings who are not kings ;
Men and women bow and crawl
Where no tyrant reigns at all.
And the worst of all things be,
In the light of Liberty.
You have come in strife and pain,
You shall go but come again.
One that's sane shall drive you mad,
One that's mad shall drive you sane.
He whose wealth you helped to make,
Make you rich for your own sake.
You shall sink but rise again,
With the strength of ten times ten,
And shall be a king of men.
Those whose names you write and call
Make you famous over all.
One who's deaf shall make you hear,
One who's blind shall make you see.
Absent ones be ever near,
Nearer still in pain and fear;
One who never dreamed a dream
Shall reveal the mystery
Raise your eyes and you shall see.
[I saw hypnotic visions and illusions here.]
Yesternight in Land o' Scorn,
Was a gipsy baby born.
