That Which the Gypsies Know.

The time is here to gather gear,
And as we have before.
To roll a pack for lands out back,
And hike along once more.
To hike again beyond the plain
Up through a foothill gate,
Where with their charm the pine and palm,
In grace and beauty wait.
So let's away at dawn of day,
Together let us go,
By vale and peak once more to seek
That which the gypsies know.
Where ratas cling and tuis sing,
And snow-fed waters fall,
And trails are steep and gorges deep,
And whistling blue-ducks call.
There in some glade that Nature's made,
While robins come to peep,
We bide awhile in gypsy style,
By pools where brown trout sleep.
While pigeons croon a forest tune,
And tell an ancient tale,
Go as you like, but we will hike
Along a mountain trail.
And through the haze of lofty ways,
Where blooms the edelweiss,
We'll tramp along unto a song
That's known to them and us.
Awhile we'll stop on some high top,
Where breezes gently blow,
While all the world is laid unfurled
For us who gaze below.
Then on we'll go till sunset's glow
Has draped the range in gold,
And bellbird calls and twilight falls,
And night her stars unfold.
As smoke-rings coil and billies boil,
We'll make a camp-fire gleam,
That those below may see and know
We need no more to dream.

—L. M.

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