Who is it sings the gypsies' song to-night
         To muted strings
Deep in the linden shade beyond the light,
         My casement flings?

Can it be Death who sings. Ah no, not he,
         For he is old,—
His voice is like the murmur of the sea,
         When light grows cold.

Who is it sings once more, once more again
         The gypsy song?—
Song of the open road, the starry plain
         Estranged so long.

Come to the woods, come for the woods are green,
         The sweet airs blow
The hawthorn boughs the forest boles between
         Are white as snow.

The wet leaves stir; the dim trees dream again
         Of vanished Springs:—
Out in the night, out in the slow, soft rain,
         My lost youth sings.