When a Gypsy Makes Her Violin Cry

My lips are still

but a haunting thrill

fans a smouldering fire



When a gypsy makes her magic strings sigh

Again to me

comes the memory

of an old desire



She draws her bow

and seems to know

That love once hurt my heart

And as she plays for me

I'm lost in reverie



How I treasure every measure till

The last notes die

When a Gypsy Makes Her Violin Cry.