The house where my loved one lived 
is white and lies in the valley floor,
and I could dream as I look at it now
that I see her again coming out of the door,
and walking up through the stubble fields
and coming to me once more.

Yet the world where my loved one lived 
was far - so far from this world of mine,
for hers was a nature that full of zest
tasted each pleasure without repine,
and filled her days with frolic and jest
and drinking my love like wine.

But when she had drunk she smashed the glass,
and oh how I wish I could think no more
of that lovely girl who prints her toes
in the cool wet sands of an alien shore
and never dreams now in her wildest dreams 
of coming to me once more.