I'd like to tell you people I met her at a fair,nBut I met her in a pub down by the far side of the square.nShe was dark and she was handsome and her name was Mary-Lee,nAnd I'll tell you of the good times of Mary-Lee and me.nnShe said she was a gypsy and I knew she didn't lie - nYou could see the fires of India in her dark and roaming eyes.nI knew I couldn't hold her, I knew she must be freenBut no power on Earth could quench the love I had for Mary-Lee.nnShe said the time of horses had long since passed awaynThe family remembers them as carefree happy days.nHer granddad used to drive in a pony and a trap,nBut now they lived in Bradford where her father dealt in scrap.nnI couldn't really tell you how we passed away our time.nWe mostly spent the evenings drinking Tetley's Ale and wine.nAlthough it may seem commonplace the way I'm telling you,nTo me a life with Mary-Lee was like a dream come true.nnI courted this young gypsy girl from autumn into springnAnd I thought that the time had come for me to offer her my ring.nBut I never plucked my courage up before I became to see,nThat Mary-Lee grew restless with the pudding of the trees.nnIt was on a Sunday afternoon I called to take her out.nIt was Mary's dad, not Mary, who answered to my shout,nIf it's her that you're seeking you've a long long way to go,nShe joined a band for Scotland at least twelve hours ago.nnFor a while I stood there speechless at what her father said,nAnd the promises I'd hoped for were still ringing in my head.nAnd I knew that I must travel on the road that she'd gone on -nEven if it took me to the dark side of the sun.nnSo early the next morning I started for Ilkley.nThe city was silent and still as a stone.nWith hope in my heart and fire in my head,nI set off to find where the gypsies had gone.nnI flagged down a car that dropped me at BoltonnThe valley before me, the town at my backnWalking alone by the low hills of Wharfedale,nBy the black top of Kilty I saw the dawn crack.nnThe first one I met on the road was a farmer.nHe nodded his head as he passed me by.nI asked him politely if he'd seen the gypsies,nThey were camped up at Langstrothdale, came his reply.nnBy the evening I came to the village of BuckdennAnd decided that here I should make my night's stop.nHave you seen the gypsies? I asked my friend Jackie,nThey've moved on, he said, They've gone over the top.nnSo next morning I took the road into Wensleydale,nMoorland before me, stretched out like a dream.nUp by the boulders and over the bridgenWhere the white lady walks into the stream.nnI stopped an old man I'd met once before:nKit Calvert, the maker of Wensleydale cheese.nAnd when I asked Kit if he'd seen the gypsies,nThe words that he spoke helped to put me at ease.nnHe said, The gypsies left early, I watched as they wentnThey had one amongst them, thy dark haired lass.nShe shouted to me from the back of a wagonnThey were making for Keld by the Buttertubs Pass.nnNow the Buttertubs Pass, it's steep and it's highnAnd the horses would find it a hard way to go.nIf I set on the road and my boots didn't fail menI might catch them up before daylight was through.nnHigh on the road, and nobody near me,nFar from the city, and far from all harm.nSheep on the hillside, grouse in the heather,nThe blind windows of a far-distant farm.nnAs the sun dropped down low I came into Thwaite,nLeaving behind me the dusk on the fell.nI started straight away down the road into KeldnWhere Neddy once played his harmonium and bellsnnFrom a field by the road I saw the smoke rising.nI hitched up my pack and I rounded the bend.nI first saw the horses, and then saw the wagons,nAnd I knew that my journey was nearing its end.nnMary walked up to me and I looked into her eyes,nAnd the sadness in her face is a thing I can't describe.nWe didn't speak a word, there was nothing we could saynAbout the closing of a love affair, the closing of a day.nnMary took my hand in hers, I took her hand in mine,nJust one more night together before we had our time.nWe couldn't sleep inside the van (there wasn't any room)nSo I spent the night in Mary's arms beneath the haloed moon.nnI woke up in the morning, the light was cold and grey.nThe gypsies and their caravans had gone upon their way.nIn my head a burning pain, in my heart a hole,nBy my side a note was pinned, Have mercy on my soul.nnThe last time I heard a word about my Mary Lee,nShe was married to a tinker and was living in Dundee.nThey say she has a baby now to bounce upon her knee,nAnd I wonder in the long nights if she ever thinks of me.