Then you can thrive on your boughten food
As the gipsy-vans come through ...
For it isn’t nature the Gorgio blood
Should love as the Romany do.
Unless you carry the gipsy eyes
That see but seldom weep,
Keep your head from the naked skies
Or the stars’ll trouble your sleep.
Watch your moon through your window-pane
And take what weather she brews.