The Gypsy Star

There were seven shining stars that swung above my cradle
(She never was kind to me, Diana our Lady the Moon!)
And one was rosy-pale, and one was scarlet-golden,
And one was a little shadowed star that only could vanish soon!
Oh, Mars was scarlet-wild and Venus was veiled in shadow
(She called to the clouds to come, Diana our Lady of Snow!)
But all of the stars that rose and helped me where I must wander
They never could hold the Gypsy Star to the roads where my feet must go!
Oh, one was a star of crowns and one was a star of dreaming
And one was a star of mockery and one was a help from pain,
And ever the Sun was kind and shone for my idle singing,
But ah, my wandering Gypsy Star I never shall find again!
Oh, Mars may burn to dusk and Venus may rise from shadow
And even the Moon that hated me forget as she lifts the tide,
Yet what if they gleam or fade, and what if they stay or wander? . . .
Alas, my wandering Gypsy Star that faded and flamed and died!