In my little thatched hut
Where blue-green gra** grows by the brook
I lounge and I look
(I lounge and I look. I lounge and I look)
For my own true love to return--
To come rowing in his rowboat back
I'll go to the flower stall
And get a violet to put in my jet black hair
And make him tell me which one is the more fair
And in the meantime I cry
And in the meantime I cry
But what does it matter?
Because when I seem him again
It'll be tears of joy