Classic Poem

Sometimes the road was a twisted riddle
Where one might stray for a crooked mile,
But O, she danced to the pipes and fiddle
Most of the while, most of the while.

Sometimes the wind and the rain together
Blurred the hill that she needs must climb,
But O, she tripped it in primrose weather
Most of the time, most of the time.

Who may say that the journey tried her?
Never a Romany went as gay,
Seeing that true love walked beside her
All of the way, all of the way.