Black bread, while meal to meal succeeds,
Her passion ne’er will lull to sleep;
One burning kiss is all she needs,
Her gipsy blood its warmth will keep.
When time of trial draweth nigh,
No burning tears will she outpour;
Well skilled is she in misery—
’Twill only make her love thee more.
No change which doth our being move
A single pang to her can give;