The Gypsy

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