She was the fairest of the King’s fair daughters,

Gold and rubies glittered on her hands;

Her voice was the lilting of a rain of silver waters,

And her lovers were as endless as her lands.

Down thro’ the birch wood with her maidens all about her,

So virginal she came with dainty tread,

At my eyes she was silent,—could a gypsy turn and flout her:

Love I looked and love I spoke, till white grew red.

Free she was as fair, she forgot her father’s palace,

Left her lands to wander at my side;

She is crowned with forest leaves, with my two curved hands for chalice:

Spring and love must bring a gypsy to his bride.