Gypsy Twist
The gypsy walked at the shingle,
Her dress flared out in the breeze,
Her hair tied back with a coloured scarf
As she wandered at her ease,
She fed the gulls at the water's edge
And she gazed back, moodily,
Where the Master of Harrington Hall was stood
As he watched her, through the trees.
While back at the house there, on the hill,
His wife sat in despair,
She'd worn her prettiest dress for him,
She'd combed her auburn hair,
She'd flushed her cheeks with a touch of rouge,
Her lips were gypsy red,
But she hadn't attracted a single glance
From his lordship's noble head.
He'd taken her as a child, and taught her
How to walk with grace,
He'd sent her off to a finishing school
To learn her lady's place,
She'd learnt to stifle emotion when
It rose in her frightened eyes,
And sat with her needlework and thread,
A work that she despised!
Then once she was taught, and tamed enough,
He showed her to his kin,
They nodded with faint approval at
The match that he'd made for him,
They dressed her up in a wedding gown
And mocked, behind her back,
This would-be lady from finishing school,
So open to attack!
They'd beaten her conversation out,
They'd left her feeling small,
He'd tried to speak to her once or twice,
But she couldn't reply at all.
She knew but little or nothing of
The world, or its great affairs,
So sat at the window sewing,
Watched him stray in the woods out there.
The gypsies came in the autumn,
Made their camp at the edge of the wood,
The Lord of Harrington Hall had said:
'Some colour will do us good!
He wandered out to inspect the camp,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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