Know you the song of the gipsy lass, The wandering brunette? I'm sure you ne'er could have seen her pass, Or you would not forget.
About her waist is a gorgeous scarf Of crimson and of gold, As light and free as the gipsy's laugh Is every careless fold.
The wind and the sun have tanned her cheek And warmed its olive skin, You look in vain for a feature weak In nose, or mouth, or chin.
Her lips are full and a luscious red, Her eyes have a dazzled ray, And if their light on your path is shed 'Twill steal your heart away.
Know you the song of the gipsy girl, A song of love or war? Of a distant knight in the battle's whirl, Or a sighing troubadour.
When she sings of war then her temples burn Like the brow of a cavalier, Her dark eyes flash, and her face grows stern, Her voice rings loud and clear.
Her eyes are soft when she sings of love, Her blushes come and go, And you see the night with the stars above, And feel the cool winds blow.
O! the dark brunette has a smile for all, A lover new each day, She picks them up, then she lets them fall, And flings their hearts away.
Know you the life of the gipsy maid, Its sorrow and its grief? She makes her bed in the green wood's shade, Or sleeps on the fragrant heath.
The evening star is her chamber light, Her lullaby the streams, And the restless wind at the dead of night Comes moaning in her dreams.
But the lark will sing in the morning hours, When night and sleep are through, To wake the child of the fields and flowers, The sunlight and the dew.
