A gypsy, who had lost a chain of beads
(Blue glass, they were, and threaded on a shoe-string),
Went round about the lanes in mourning weeds
Weeping her loss, and begging for a new string.
A lady, who inhabited a house
Known in those parts (perhaps) as Joyous Manor,
Walked through the dusk below laburnum boughs,
In gentleness and chastity and honour.
All praised her, from the potentates and kings
Down to the least of village dames and gaffers;
She had, among her several pretty things,
A delicate celestial chain of sapphires.
The lady's hair was like a golden fleece;
Like God's own mother she was clad in azure;
She read the curious history of Lucrece
And swung the sky, suspended in her treasure.
The gypsy, who had wandered to the edge
Of this domain, being blinded by her dolour,
Crawled like a weasel through the privet hedge,
And touched the chain, and kissed its heaven-colour.
The gypsy's hair was rusty like a rake
And crowned with straw, since straw had been her pillow;
Her brow was banded, for her sorrow's sake,
With plaited coronal of weeping-willow.
" Sweet Virgin " (so her sorrow turned her brain),
She cried; " be sure I have not come to pilfer;
I know in truth that this is not my chain;
My clasp was gold (I think) and yours is silver.
" But every link is lighter than a leaf
And fitly wrought to hold its proper jewel. "
The lady, who was witness to her grief,
Offered her neither petticoats nor gruel.
The lady, who was witness to her tears,
Offered her neither sage advice nor question;
She said: " The moon is up; the weather clears. "
She was a noble lady, and a Christian.
She said: " You shall be servant to this gem;
If it grow dull (or even slightly dullish),
Keep every flower upon its silver stem
A star, with chamois skin and goldsmith's polish. "
The gypsy knelt upon the lilied ground,
Crouched, like a beast upon its silly haunches;
The lady said: " . . . Until your own is found
Whose clasp was brighter than laburnum branches. "
Her lord, who late had left the garden close
Because the gardeners were burning rubbish,
Returned to smile, and then to look morose
(He was superior and slightly snobbish).
" My dear, " he said, " I am the more amazed
To see you trust the drab with something precious,
Because, while this particular one is crazed,
All gypsies are dishonest and malicious. "
" My dear, " she said, " go seek upon your shelf
Corinthians, xiii; it cannot hurt you;
And leave this beggar-woman and myself
To love these stars' incomparable virtue. "
(Blue glass, they were, and threaded on a shoe-string),
Went round about the lanes in mourning weeds
Weeping her loss, and begging for a new string.
A lady, who inhabited a house
Known in those parts (perhaps) as Joyous Manor,
Walked through the dusk below laburnum boughs,
In gentleness and chastity and honour.
All praised her, from the potentates and kings
Down to the least of village dames and gaffers;
She had, among her several pretty things,
A delicate celestial chain of sapphires.
The lady's hair was like a golden fleece;
Like God's own mother she was clad in azure;
She read the curious history of Lucrece
And swung the sky, suspended in her treasure.
The gypsy, who had wandered to the edge
Of this domain, being blinded by her dolour,
Crawled like a weasel through the privet hedge,
And touched the chain, and kissed its heaven-colour.
The gypsy's hair was rusty like a rake
And crowned with straw, since straw had been her pillow;
Her brow was banded, for her sorrow's sake,
With plaited coronal of weeping-willow.
" Sweet Virgin " (so her sorrow turned her brain),
She cried; " be sure I have not come to pilfer;
I know in truth that this is not my chain;
My clasp was gold (I think) and yours is silver.
" But every link is lighter than a leaf
And fitly wrought to hold its proper jewel. "
The lady, who was witness to her grief,
Offered her neither petticoats nor gruel.
The lady, who was witness to her tears,
Offered her neither sage advice nor question;
She said: " The moon is up; the weather clears. "
She was a noble lady, and a Christian.
She said: " You shall be servant to this gem;
If it grow dull (or even slightly dullish),
Keep every flower upon its silver stem
A star, with chamois skin and goldsmith's polish. "
The gypsy knelt upon the lilied ground,
Crouched, like a beast upon its silly haunches;
The lady said: " . . . Until your own is found
Whose clasp was brighter than laburnum branches. "
Her lord, who late had left the garden close
Because the gardeners were burning rubbish,
Returned to smile, and then to look morose
(He was superior and slightly snobbish).
" My dear, " he said, " I am the more amazed
To see you trust the drab with something precious,
Because, while this particular one is crazed,
All gypsies are dishonest and malicious. "
" My dear, " she said, " go seek upon your shelf
Corinthians, xiii; it cannot hurt you;
And leave this beggar-woman and myself
To love these stars' incomparable virtue. "