DAYS, I go very gayly Up the roads and down, Glad that the wind is shaggy and wild, Glad that the hills are brown. A very gipsy I am, by day, Adventuring quite in a gipsy way. But when the dusk comes drifting Across the tall sky's face, When yellow lamps smile quaintly out From every window-place, -- No gipsy at all am I, at night, Wanting my own little house and light. |