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Updated: May 27, 2025
I know a pool of purple rimmed with white Where wild-fowl, warming for the morning flight, Wait clustering and crying on the brink. And I know hillsides where the partridge breeds. Aye-yee! Aye-yee, aye-yah! Aye-yee I see new distances beyond a blue horizon flung. I laugh, because the people under roofs believe That last year's ways are this! No roads are old! New grass has grown!
Aye-yee aye-yah! Aye-yee I see new rushes crowding upwards in the mere Where, gold and white, the wild duck preens himself Safe hidden till the sun-drawn, lingering mists melt. I know the secret den where bruin dwelt. I see him now sun-basking on a shelf Of windy rock. He looks down on the deer, Who flit like flowing light from rock to tree And stand with ears alert before they drink.
All pools and rivers hold New water! And the feathered singers weave New nests, forgetting where the old ones hung! Aye-yah the muddy highway sticks and clings, But I see in the open pastures new Unknown to busne* in the houses pent! I hear the new, warm raindrops drumming on the tent, I feel already on my feet delicious dew, I see the trail outflung! And oh, my heart has wings!
On to where the visions are! Aye-yee aye-yah! * Busne Gipsy word Gentile, or non-gipsy. Russia, Rumania, Bulgaria, Bohemia, Persia, Armenia were all one hunting-ground to the troupe we rode with. Even the children seemed to have a smattering of most of the tongues men speak in those intriguing lands.
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