When Himself's behind his paper and the childer sleepin' sound,
And the moon's a winkin' lantern throwin' shadows all around,
Forsakin' fire and hearthstone, down the Way of Dreams I start
To meet my darlin' truelove in a corner of my heart.
His voice is like the west-wind when it whispers low and sweet,
His words are like the poppies that be growin' in the wheat.
I forget the bangin' shutters and the candle's sleepy stare,
When I meet my laughin' truelove where he's waitin' for me there.
When Himself has grown a-weary in the cozy evenin' tide,
A ghost it is that follows him and settles at his side.
I'll be so true and faithful that he'll never know, shall he,
I go to meet the laughin' lad, the lad he used to be!