Classic Poem

I SAW a ragged woman go wandering down the world,
With sad eyes, and brown shawl, and hair all uncurled;
But gold bands on her raiment, and crimson in her coat
Proclaimed her a gipsy queen from bright days remote.

Her lips were of scarlet, and leaves in her hair
Told of tattered glory, and youth that was fair.
Her hands held a rosary of strange, shining beads,
And she sang in a low voice by hills and meads.

Autumn, wild gipsy, with a hint of the spring,
And queenly deportment, like the bride of a king,
A sad old wanderer who paced through the world
With her purple gown flowing, and her red veil unfurled.