You’re off away to London, proved,
        Where fair girls shall adore you;
The poor, plain face of one that loved
        May never rise before you.
But if you should return again,
        When young blood ceases flowing,
Then one shall wait in wind and rain,
        Where forty cheered you going.

It may be carelessly you spoke
        Of never more returning,
But sometimes in the London smoke,
        You’ll smell the gum leaves burning;
And think of how the grassy plain
        Beyond the fog is flowing,
And one that waits in shine or rain,
        Where forty cheered you going.