Ho , little girl, the road beside,
That winds along by the vineyards gay,
All you want is our coin, I know,
And you thrust your roses under our noses,
Hoping to conquer our scruples so.
What I should do is to answer: “No,
Beggars should always be denied.”

What I do, is to throw to you
All my change,—for my heart beats young,
This is Italy, skies are blue,
All about me I hear a tongue
Made for song,—and your eyes are bright,
Dusk your hair, and your face a-light
And lovely,—bless me, what money pays
For this land of lands and this day of days!