(2)
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. 
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!

Chorus: 
Aye-yee, aye-yah—­the kites see far
(But also to the owls the visions change)—­
No dawn is like the next, and nothing sings
Of sameness—­very hours have wings
And leave no word of whose hand touched the range
Of Kara Dagh with opal and with cinnabar. 
      Aye-yee, aye-yah!

(3)
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! 
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!

Chorus: 
Aye-yee, aye-yah—­the kites see far
(But also on the road the visions pass)—­
The universe reflected in a wayside pool,
A tinkling symphony where seeping waters drool,
The dance, more gay than laughter, of the wind-swept grass—­
Oh, onward!  On to where the visions are! 
      Aye-yee—­aye-yah!

---------------------
* Busne—­Gipsy word—­Gentile, or non-gipsy.
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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.  Will and the girl beside him conversed in German, but the old hag nearest me would not confess acquaintance with any language I knew.  Again and again I tried her, but she always shook her head.

Fred, with his ready gift of tongues, attempted conversation with ten or a dozen of them, but whichever language he used in turn appeared to be the only one which that particular individual did not know.  All he got in reply was grins, and awkward silence, and shrugs of the shoulders in Gregor’s direction, implying that the head of the firm did the talking with strangers.  But Gregor rode alone with Monty, out of ear-shot.