"My councillors are old and grey,

And sit in narrow chairs;

But you can hear the birds sing clear,

And your hearts are as light as theirs."

"If you would come along with us,

Then you must count the cost;

For though in Spring the sweet birds sing,

In Winter comes the frost.

"Your ladies serve you all the day

With courtesy and care;

Your fine-shod feet they tread so neat,

But a gipsy's feet go bare.

"You wash in water running warm

Through basins all of gold;

The streams where we roam have silvery foam,

But the streams, the streams are cold.

"And barley-bread is bitter to taste,

While sugary cakes they please—

Which will you choose, O which will you choose,

Which will you choose of these?

"For if you choose the mountain streams

And barley-bread to eat,

Your heart will be free as the birds in the tree,

But the stones will cut your feet.

"The mud will spoil your silken gown,

And stain your insteps high;

The dogs in the farm will wish you harm

And bark as you go by.

"And though your heart grow deep and gay,

And your heart grow wise and rich,

The cold will make your bones to ache

And you will die in a ditch."

"O gentle, gentle gipsies,

That roam the wide world through,

Although I praise your wandering ways,

I dare not come with you."

I hung about their fingers brown

My ruby rings and chain,

And with my head as heavy as lead,

I turned me back again.

As I went up the palace steps,

I heard the gipsies laugh;

The birds of Spring so sweet did sing;

My heart it broke in half.