O gypsy girl with hungry eyes,
Outside upon the snow,
What couldst thou know of suits and ties,
And fire’s flickering glow?
And what of custards, and what of roast,
That steam up thick and hot?
While unbeknownst to the happy host,
Greed grabs the smoking pot!
Until I take thee by the hand,
Thy skin, quite damp, and white,
Young mendicant in fatter land,
And lodge thee for the night.