The gypsies are calling On long, winding road. I rush from my hearthside; I lay down my load. The gypsies are singing Beside the red fire. There is no one can hold me For love or for hire. The gypsies are dancing Upon the gold hill. I know that my wild blood Can never be still. My life's with the gypsies. I lay down my load. My heart's with the gypsies. I'm on the high road. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STENOGRAPHERS by PATRICIA KATHLEEN PAGE TO A GENTLEMAN & LADY ON THE DEATH ... CHILD NAMED AVIS by PHILLIS WHEATLEY THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT [OR AFTER] CORUNNA by CHARLES WOLFE THE TULIP AND THE LILY, SELECTION by JAMES BARCLAY SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 43. ONE CHANCE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) SAD MADRIGAL, SELECTION by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |