This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
PASSING THE GIPSY CAMP.
So, here they are on the hills again;
They always come with the robins hither.
But where do they stay when the wind and rain
Make the women's faces wither?

They come from Egypt, as I have heard.
(Didn't Pharaoh look like that brown fellow?)
Yes, picturesque is a right fine word
For rags in scarlet and yellow.

See the wide straw hats, the purplish hair,
The doubtful eyes, and the graceless graces;
The tents, and the wild fires, here and there,
In the greenest, shyest places.

The oldest, wisest of all comes here.
Last May her promise was sweet as honey,—
(I wish, with the interest of a year,
She would give me back my money!)

24