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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365738" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Gypsy Twist</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gypsy walked at the shingle, <br>Her dress flared out in the breeze, <br>Her hair tied back with a coloured scarf<br>As she wandered at her ease, <br>She fed the gulls at the water's edge<br>And she gazed back, moodily, <br>Where the Master of Harrington Hall was stood<br>As he watched her, through the trees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">While back at the house there, on the hill, <br>His wife sat in despair, <br>She'd worn her prettiest dress for him, <br>She'd combed her auburn hair, <br>She'd flushed her cheeks with a touch of rouge, <br>Her lips were gypsy red, <br>But she hadn't attracted a single glance<br>From his lordship's noble head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He'd taken her as a child, and taught her<br>How to walk with grace, <br>He'd sent her off to a finishing school<br>To learn her lady's place, <br>She'd learnt to stifle emotion when<br>It rose in her frightened eyes, <br>And sat with her needlework and thread, <br>A work that she despised! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then once she was taught, and tamed enough, <br>He showed her to his kin, <br>They nodded with faint approval at<br>The match that he'd made for him, <br>They dressed her up in a wedding gown<br>And mocked, behind her back, <br>This would-be lady from finishing school, <br>So open to attack! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They'd beaten her conversation out, <br>They'd left her feeling small, <br>He'd tried to speak to her once or twice, <br>But she couldn't reply at all.<br>She knew but little or nothing of<br>The world, or its great affairs, <br>So sat at the window sewing, <br>Watched him stray in the woods out there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gypsies came in the autumn, <br>Made their camp at the edge of the wood, <br>The Lord of Harrington Hall had said: <br>'Some colour will do us good! <br>He wandered out to inspect the camp, <br>Its caravans, horses and thieves, <br>But the sight that caught at his jaundiced eye<br>Was the gypsy, Genevieve! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She'd danced in a leafy clearing to<br>The sound of an ancient lute, <br>Her smile so bright, her teeth so white<br>And a necklace made of fruit, <br>She seemed at one with the humid earth<br>With a perfume made from musk, <br>She danced like sin, and she drew him in<br>As the day drew down to dusk.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Simone sat long at the window with<br>Her needlework denied, <br>While down at the long breakwater<br>Sat her husband, watching the tide! <br>She saw as the colony of terns<br>Wheeled screaming into the air, <br>And Genevieve knotted a love-knot<br>Into her wild, beribboned hair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gypsies left as the winter snow<br>Turned white the pebbled shore, <br>But long after dusk, the lord returned<br>Came in at the servants' door, <br>Behind him the gypsy, Genevieve, <br>Had sat by the kitchen fire, <br>As he told Simone that he'd brought her home, <br>And this was his one desire! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'She needs to be educated, needs<br>A mentor, full of grace, <br>Get rid of the rough and ready parts<br>Of her rough and ready race! <br>I've taken it on myself to form her, <br>Teach her to sip her wine, <br>She'll have the advantage you have had, <br>You'll see - it'll work out fine! '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She went away to the finishing school<br>And Simone sighed with relief, <br>She tried so hard with her wayward lord<br>That she felt a new belief, <br>But she lost a child in the early spring<br>And it turned his lordship's head, <br>She knew that she'd lost her only chance, <br>Her marriage, as good as dead! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A year went by, as a year it will<br>In the flash of an eye, and gone, <br>And Genevieve had returned one day<br>In a carriage, a bonnet on! <br>She looked demure as she curtsied low<br>To the lord, who smiled her way, <br>But she'd lost her pout, and her fire was out, <br>And she seemed no longer gay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now Genevieve takes her needlework<br>And she sits by the windowsill, <br>But she never utters a word to him<br>The Master of Harrington Hall.<br>He watches Simone as she trips the beach, <br>And her dress flares out in the breeze, <br>As she dances, wild as a gypsy girl, <br>To a lute that sounds through the trees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">18 September 2009</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365738" data-title="Gypsy Twist de David Lewis Paget" data-description="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 w..."></div>
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