The Gypsies Passed Her Little Gate-- She Stopped Her Wheel To See,-- A Brown-Faced Pair Who Walked The Road, Free As The Wind Is Free; And Suddenly Her Tidy Room A Prison Seemed To Be. Her Shining Plates Against The Walls, Her Sunlit, Sanded Floor, The Brass-Bound Wedding Chest That Held Her Linen'S Snowy Store, The Very Wheel Whose Humming Died,-- Seemed Only Chains She Bore. She Watched The Foot-Free Gypsies Pass; She Never Knew Or Guessed The Wistful Dream That Drew Them Close-- The Longing In Each Breast Some Day To Know A Home Like Hers, Wherein Their Hearts Might Rest.