A Gypsy Romance

I am the torch, she saith, and what to me
If the moth die of me? I am the flame
Of Beauty, and I burn that all may see
Beauty, and I have neither joy nor shame,
But live with that clear light of perfect fire
Which is to men the death of their desire.
  
I am Yseult and Helen, I have seen
Troy burn, and the most loving knight lie dead.
The world has been my mirror, time has been
My breath upon the glass; and men have said,
Age after age, in rapture and despair,
Love's poor few words, before my image there.
  
I live, and am immortal; in my eyes
The sorrow of the world, and on my lips
The joy of life, mingle to make me wise;
Yet now the day is darkened with eclipse:
Who is there still lives for beauty? Still am I
The torch, but where's the moth that still dares die?

The gipsy tents are on the down, 
The gipsy girls are here; 
And it's O to be off and away from the town 
With a gipsy for my dear! 

We'd make our bed in the bracken 
With the lark for a chambermaid; 
The lark would sing us awake in the morning, 
Singing above our head. 

We'd drink the sunlight all day long 
With never a house to bind us; 
And we'd only flout in a merry song 
The world we left behind us. 

We would be free as birds are free 
The livelong day, the livelong day; 
And we would lie in the sunny bracken 
With none to say us nay. 

The gipsy tents are on the down, 
The gipsy girls are here; 
And it's O to be off and away from the town 
With a gipsy for my dear! 

White-robed against the threefold white
Of shutter, glass and curtains' lace,
She flashed into the evening light
The brilliance of her gipsy face:
I saw the evening in her light.

Clear, from the soft hair to the mouth,
Her ardent face made manifest
The sultry beauty of the South:
Below, a red rose, climbing, pressed
Against the roses of her mouth.

So, in the window's threefold white,
O'ertrailed with foliage like a bower,
She seemed, against the evening light,
Amongst the flowers herself a flower,
A tiger-lily sheathed in white. 

Her mouth is all of roses,
Her eyes are violets;
And round her cheek at hide and seek
Love plays among the roses
That dimple on her cheek.

Her heart is all caprices,
Her will is yea and nay;
And with a smile can she beguile
My heart to the caprices
That dance upon her smile.

Her looks are merely sunshine,
Her tears are only rain;
But if she will I follow still
The flitting way of sunshine
Whatever way she will.

And if she will I love her,
And if she put me by,
Despite her will I follow still.
And will she let me love her?
Ha, ha! I think she will. 

Against the world I closed my heart,
And, half in pride and half in fear,
I said to Love and Lust: Depart;
None enters here.

A gipsy witch has glided in,
She takes her seat beside my fire;
Her eyes are innocent of sin,
Mine of desire.

She holds me with an unknown spell,
She folds me in her heart's embrace;
If this be love, I cannot tell:
I watch her face.

Her sombre eyes are happier
Than any joy that e'er had voice;
Since I am happiness to her,
I too rejoice.

And I have closed the door again,
Against the world I close my heart;
I hold her with my spell; in vain
Would she depart.

I hold her with a surer spell,
Beyond her magic, and above:
If hers be love, I cannot tell,
But mine is love. 

As a perfume doth remain
In the folds where it hath lain,
So the thought of you, remaining
Deeply folded in my brain,
Will not leave me: all things leave me:
    You remain.

Other thoughts may come and go,
Other moments I may know
That shall waft me, in their going,
As a breath blown to and fro,
Fragrant memories: fragrant memories
    Come and go.

Only thoughts of you remain
In my heart where they have lain,
Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining,
A hid sweetness, in my brain.
Others leave me: all things leave me:
    You remain.