Poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter

The Gypsie’s Road

I shall go on the gypsies' road,
The road that has no ending;
For the sedge is brown on the lone lake side,
The wild geese eastward tending.
I shall go as the unfettered wave,
From shore to shore, forgetting
The grief that lies 'neath a roof-tree's shade,
The years that bring regretting.
No law shall dare my wandering stay,
No man my acres measure;
The world was made for the gypsies' feet,
The winding road for pleasure.
And I shall drift as the pale leaf strayed,
Whither the wild wind listed,
I shall sleep in the dark of the hedge,
'Neath rose and thorn entwisted.
This was a call in the heart of the night,
A whispering dream's dear treasure.
‘The world was made for the nomads' feet,
The winding road for pleasure.’
I stole at dawn from my roof-tree's shade,
And the cares that it did cover;
I flew to the heart of the fierce north wind,
As a maid will greet her lover.
But a thousand hands did draw me back
And bid me to their tending;
I may not go on the gypsies' road—
The road that has no ending.

1. The Golden Apple
2. The Little Bells of Sevilla
3. The Song of the Happy Man
4. The Enemies
5. A Moth

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