A gypsy am I as I rove on the downy dale.
Aside from the taverns the fields are my only vale.
I drink from my carafe a fairy-fermented brew,
And I dream of fair love, beneath a radiant sky of blue.
I carry within my sailor's coat a book of romantic rhyme.
I wield it when I may and write as I did of old:
Of a sable-haired girl whose gaze is raven-gold.
Her dress is white and long, and her hair is of an elysian clime.
I am struck by visions beside the lane,
On starry October nights, laved by the autumn rain,
And I sleep beneath the lindens musing on her kiss.
I have searched for her love in ethereal bliss.
I have seen her face in dreams, wandering on the shore,
And the specter of her beauty, passing on the moor.www.visionarywanderings.com
Aside from the taverns the fields are my only vale.
I drink from my carafe a fairy-fermented brew,
And I dream of fair love, beneath a radiant sky of blue.
I carry within my sailor's coat a book of romantic rhyme.
I wield it when I may and write as I did of old:
Of a sable-haired girl whose gaze is raven-gold.
Her dress is white and long, and her hair is of an elysian clime.
I am struck by visions beside the lane,
On starry October nights, laved by the autumn rain,
And I sleep beneath the lindens musing on her kiss.
I have searched for her love in ethereal bliss.
I have seen her face in dreams, wandering on the shore,
And the specter of her beauty, passing on the moor.www.visionarywanderings.com
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