Dark-eyed gipsy, come not hither
To unveil my future doom;
Tell me not in tranquil weather
Of the cloud that is to come;
Though e'en now the sunbeam leaves me,
Let me dream that it will last,
Till the happy future gives me
Some atonement for the past.
Tempt me not with happy fictions,
It would madden me to hear;
Chill me not with dark predictions,
I should listen with a tear;
Wave no wand of magic o'er me,
Vaunt not of your mystic skill;
Let the veil that lies before me
Be impenetrable still.
When the young and gay are near you,
Then indulge your magic mood;
How intently will they hear you,
Credulous of all that's good!
Boast of all the bliss you've brought them,
Give imagination scope;
Disappointment hath not taught them
To mistrust the dreams of hope.