Classic Poem

She had cornflowers in her ear,
As she came up the lane;
"What may be your name, my dear?"
"Oh, sir, Gipsy Jane."

"You are berry-brown, my dear"--
"That, sir, well may be;
For I live, more than half the year,
Under tent or tree."

Shine, Sun, blow, Wind!
Fall gently, Rain!
The year's declined; be soft and kind,
Kind to Gipsy Jane.