Part 1 — THE GYPSY GIRL
Reading edition
Passing I saw her as she stood beside A lonely stream between two barren wolds; Her loose vest hung in rudely gathered folds On her swart bosom, which in maiden pride Pillowed a string of pearls; among her hair Twined the light bluebell and the stone-crop gay; And not far thence the small encampment lay, Curling its wreathed smoke into the air. She seemed a child of some sun-favored clime; So still, so habited to warmth and rest; And in my wayward musings on past time, When my thought fills with treasured memories, That image nearest borders on the blest Creations of pure art that never dies.
Henry Alford [1810-1871]