Classic Poem

An oak-tree loves a rivulet, but she will never stay
To look at him or hear a word, she runs so fast away.

And there beneath the forest boughs the Rommanis are free
To take the water from the brook and firewood from the tree.

There's a lord that loves a lady, and she will never stay
To hear him when he speaks of love, but lightly trips away.

" My Gipsy mother, can you tell how all of this was known? "
The lord and lady came to me, and each of them alone;

They came to me so secretly and crossed my hand with gold,
They sat inside the Gipsy tent, and had their fortune told.

From the lover and his lady, from rivulet and tree,
From all of them we help ourselves, for we are Rommani.