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