Gypsy Blood
Be it wide as half Australia, yet a boundary you define,
And the Gypsy is in prison if he cannot cross the line;
He may camp awhile in cities, though he never makes a home,
And he'll rest and wait contented, for he knows the call will come!
For the Gypsies starved in prisons, dying hard and dying slow,
Just for loving God's own sunshine in free England, long ago;
But the spirit broke the prisons, and the spirit kept the vow,
Till they are the only people who are free in England now.
" This is Truth, " says fair-faced friendship, and we ask not how, nor why —
He says nothing, but he always acts as though it were a lie.
" You do this , " say Law and Custom, soft and gentle, sharp or flat,
And his camp-fire after midnight shows the Gypsy doing that .
" You go West! " says Law or Custom, and he heeds not in the least —
Save that face to face the dawn light meets the Gypsies tramping East !
" Go you North! " say Law and Custom — screed, or sign, or word of mouth;
And the ghastly daybreak darkens on a Gypsy faring South!
For they've sold us through the ages till a cunning race are we,
And we camp not and we tramp not with their pale-eyed treachery;
We stay longest where we may not, only going when we must,
And our people follow swiftly by the pateran in the dust.
And our women tramp behind us in the gloom of eyes and hair,
And our women work beside us and they ask not why or where.
We may steal at their confinements and we help to clothe and feed,
But we seldom show affection, save in sullen word or deed.
He has wisdom old as China — let the world think as it will —
And, in spite of his wild spirit, he has patience older still;
There are many signs, my children, by which you may recognize,
But the heartache, pain, or hunger never shows in Gypsy eyes.
He has fire and food and shelter, when it rains, for hunted men,
And from out his store of cunning he can help them on again;
For the craft of being hunted, and of hiding, has been his
Since the gallows trees of England groaned with Gypsy carcases.
They had brats beneath the gallows who should take the place of these,
And their queens divided England 'twixt the tribes and families —
They marked out the land and shared it, holding silent, sullen sway,
And lived over it, and on it, as they do unto this day .
And the Gypsy is in prison if he cannot cross the line;
He may camp awhile in cities, though he never makes a home,
And he'll rest and wait contented, for he knows the call will come!
For the Gypsies starved in prisons, dying hard and dying slow,
Just for loving God's own sunshine in free England, long ago;
But the spirit broke the prisons, and the spirit kept the vow,
Till they are the only people who are free in England now.
" This is Truth, " says fair-faced friendship, and we ask not how, nor why —
He says nothing, but he always acts as though it were a lie.
" You do this , " say Law and Custom, soft and gentle, sharp or flat,
And his camp-fire after midnight shows the Gypsy doing that .
" You go West! " says Law or Custom, and he heeds not in the least —
Save that face to face the dawn light meets the Gypsies tramping East !
" Go you North! " say Law and Custom — screed, or sign, or word of mouth;
And the ghastly daybreak darkens on a Gypsy faring South!
For they've sold us through the ages till a cunning race are we,
And we camp not and we tramp not with their pale-eyed treachery;
We stay longest where we may not, only going when we must,
And our people follow swiftly by the pateran in the dust.
And our women tramp behind us in the gloom of eyes and hair,
And our women work beside us and they ask not why or where.
We may steal at their confinements and we help to clothe and feed,
But we seldom show affection, save in sullen word or deed.
He has wisdom old as China — let the world think as it will —
And, in spite of his wild spirit, he has patience older still;
There are many signs, my children, by which you may recognize,
But the heartache, pain, or hunger never shows in Gypsy eyes.
He has fire and food and shelter, when it rains, for hunted men,
And from out his store of cunning he can help them on again;
For the craft of being hunted, and of hiding, has been his
Since the gallows trees of England groaned with Gypsy carcases.
They had brats beneath the gallows who should take the place of these,
And their queens divided England 'twixt the tribes and families —
They marked out the land and shared it, holding silent, sullen sway,
And lived over it, and on it, as they do unto this day .
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