Wandering minstrel at my gate,
Shivering in the winter gloaming,
How appalling seems your fate,—
Destined to be always roaming,
Singing for a bit of bread
And a shelter for your head!

Your sweet voice is all you own,
Save the poor, thin clothes you're wearing,
And you are not quite alone,
For a dog your crust is sharing;
Yet o'er many a weary mile
You have brought … a song and smile!

I, who have abundant land,
Home with comforts beyond measure,
Gardens, loggias, and a strand
Where a boat awaits my pleasure,
Wonder what would be your story,
Were I tramp, and you signore!

Would you weary of control?
Long to slip your gilded tether,
And with Leo once more stroll,
Heedless of the wind and weather?
You could hardly do that all,
Once ensconced behind my wall.

Every one must make a choice,
Life is based on compensation;
You have nothing but your voice,
I have more, … but more vexation!
Minstrel, you at least are free;
Give your smile to slaves like me!