Oft and oft I dream, astore,
With secret sighs and laughter,
How once you reaped the field before,
And I came gathering after.
While tenderly, tenderly with the corn
Looks of love you threw me;
Till I stood up with eyes of scorn
And withered your hope to woo me.

Oft and oft I'm dreaming still,
With smiles and tears together,
Of how I stretched my weak and ill,
Through all the wintry weather;
While tenderly, tenderly still you'd tap,
Seeking news of Norah;
Till I grew fonder of your rap
Than father's voice, anora!

Must I mind the plan conceal'd
That through the spring around you,
To wait to find me in the field,
Where rashly I refused you;
Then earnestly, earnestly in my eyes
Gaze till I return'd you
The look of looks and sigh of sighs
On the spot where once I spurn'd you.