THE GIPSY MAID
The forest folk have gone to rest,
The trees are dark and high:
The gypsy's song it crooneth soft
Their mother's lullaby.
The trees are dark and high:
The gypsy's song it crooneth soft
Their mother's lullaby.
A misty moon now rides the clouds,
They sink in happy sleep:
The gypsy laughing low at them
Slips in the forest deep.
They sink in happy sleep:
The gypsy laughing low at them
Slips in the forest deep.
They wake into a fearsome dawn,
Lost in a gloomy fen:
They follow no more gypsy maids
In all their life again.
Lost in a gloomy fen:
They follow no more gypsy maids
In all their life again.
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