Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Romany Girl
The sun goes down, and with him takes
The coarseness of my por attire;
The fair moon mounts, and aye the flame
Of Gypsy beauty blazes higher.
Pale Northern girls! you scorn our race;
You captives of your air-tight halls,
Wear out in-doors your sickly days,
But leave us the horizon walls.
And if I take you, dames, to task,
And say it frankly without guile,
Then you are Gypsies in a mask,
And I the lady all the while.
If, on the heath, below the moon,
I court and play with paler blood,
Me false to mine dare whisper none,--
One sallow horseman knows me good.
Go, keep your cheek's rose from the rain,
For teeth and hair with shopmen deal;
My swarthy tint is in the grain,
The rocks and forest knoww it real.
The wild air bloweth in out lungs,
The keen stars twinkle in our eyes,
The birds gave us our wily tongues,
The panther in our dances flies.
You doubt we read the stars on high,
Nathless we read your fortunes true;
The stars may hide in the upper sky,
But without glass we fathom you.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (The Romany Girl by Ralph Waldo Emerson )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- To You, With Love, Fareez Nasir
- For smooth sailing, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Genuine respect, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- Let go of my wrist!, Rm.Shanmugam Chettiar.
- A sweet dream..., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- She is I, Shweta Nair
- Poetic Sleeping Habits ~there are none, LUVinThe NOW
- Passing No Judgement, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- An odd adventure...., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL
- Falling Leaves, RoseAnn V. Shawiak