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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 11, Issue 7 (October 1, 1936)

Romany Kiss

Romany Kiss.

When you were in your cradle,
A Romany passed by.
She kissed your lips—your lips, my son;
(And I am like to die!)
But, go where winds are calling,
Go where lands are wide.
Go where ships are beating out
Against an adverse tide.
I would never hold you
Tamely to my side.
She was dark, the gipsy woman—
Oh, dark as Egypt's night!
She fondled you with witching hands—
(Her rings were burnished bright!)
Son, should the winds keen over you
Requiem, where lands are wide;
Should the ships beat no more home
Against an adverse tide;
Then, though I weep, son, son! for you,
They shall be tears of pride.
But—God grant the gipsy woman
May know no rest, but roam
Forever up and down the earth,
Until my son comes home.