Classic Poem

I can tell you the name right down
Of the prettiest things in all the town;
But there isn't a thing the people sell
So fine as the girl who loves me well.

I sit in my Gipsy tent all day,
And, “How are you all?” to the folk I say;
But I'd sit for a year, and it's truth I tell,
For a glimpse of the girl who loves me well.

Oh, I'd like to be a lord, of course,
And I'd like to have a hunting-horse;
But the one and the other I'd gladly sell,
For a kiss from the girl who loves me well.