Many’s the time I’ve found your face
Fresh as a bunch of flowers in May,
Waiting for me at our own old place
At the end of the working day.
Many’s the time I’ve held your hand
On the shady seat in the People’s Park,
And blessed the blaring row of the band
And kissed you there in the dark.

Many’s the time you promised true,
Swore it with kisses, swore it with tears:
“I’ll marry no one without it’s you—
If we have to wait for years.”
And now it’s another chap in the Park
That holds your hand like I used to do;
And I kiss another girl in the dark,
And try to fancy it’s you!