It was a gipsy maiden

Within the forest green;

It was a gipsy maiden

Who shook a tambourine:

The star of eve had not the face,

The cascade's foam had not the grace

Of Flamencine.

Her bodice was of purple,

Her shoes of satin sheen;

Her bodice was of purple

With scarlet laid between:

The wind of eve was in the tread,

The black of night was on the head

Of Flamencine.

Among the dreaming vistas,

The darkling dells between,

Among the dreaming vistas

I heard her tambourine:

And far within the ghostly glade

The moonbeams and the shadows played

Round Flamencine.

Among the beechen shadows

When fireflies are seen,

Among the beechen shadows

When glow-worms glimmer green,

Then down the darkness, like a light,

She dances; and the eyes are bright

Of Flamencine.

There lies a gipsy maiden

Within the forest green;

There lies a gipsy maiden

Beside her tambourine:

These many years I am her slave—

The violets grow upon the grave

Of Flamencine.