The Gypsy

Henry H. Bellamann

Brown fiddle, you are a gypsy!
That proud still song-that Brahms-
That was not you:

I saw you lying warm
Against Rigo's throat .. .
     Fringed petticoat
     like a red wing of lightning,
     flash of gold garters
     on a bare brown knee,
     and a cry
     that was choked with threat,
     the pent hot breath
     of a kiss too long-

That
That was you-
Wine-breasted gypsy fiddle!
                       Henry Bellamann