O little Yo San
     With your face of tan,
And your dear little eyes peeping over your fan,
     What a roguish way,
     On this golden day,
You have found with my heart, with my poor heart to play

     In the cherry-boughs sing
     All the birds of Spring,
And the little brooks tinkle as they ripple and ring ;
     But match, if you can,
     In the land of Japan,
The music of the laughter of my little Yo San !