Because the lover cares for daffodils

Must we be stranger to the passion flower,

Or slight the iris, dewy from a shower?

The gypsy heather bloom upon the hill

Strikes fiercely on a gypsy heart, and thrills

New argosies of dreams to sail the hours.

No rosy perfume blown from garden bowers

May bear the subtle perfume this distills.

Must we forego the dreamy twilight stars

Because the true-love lives for morning sun?

Love dare not hold the sense behind such bars.

The moon drips scented petals on our hair,

And gypsy hearts to gypsy flowers must run

While life is everything, tho’ love be fair.