Gipsy song

There where the path to the plain goes by

Where deep in the thicket my hut doth lie

Where corn stands green in the garden plot,

The brook ripples by so clearly there,

The way is open so white and fair,

My heart's best beloved he takes it not.

There where I sit by my door and spin

While morning winds that blow out and in

With scent of roses enfold the spot.

When at evening I softly sing my lay

That the wand'rer hears as the goes his way

My heart's best beloved he hears me not.

There where on Sundays I go alone

To the old, old well with the milk-white stone

Where by the fence in a nook forgot

Rises a spring in the daisied grass

That make who drinks of it love alas!

My heart's best beloved he drinks it not.

There by my window where day by day

When the sunbeams first brighten the morning's grey

I lean and dream of my weary lot

And wait his coming and softly cry

Because of love's longing that makes one die,

My heart's best beloved he dieth not.