Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, beyond the city gates,
The little city set upon a hill;
And we have seen the jocund smile upon the lips of Fate,
And we have known the splendours of our will.

Oh, we have wandered far, my dear, and we have loved apace;
A little hut we built upon the sand,
The sun without to lighten it, within, your golden face,—
O happy dream, O happy No Man’s Land!

The pleasant furniture of spring was set in all the fields,
And gay and wholesome were the herbs and flowers;
Our simple cloth of love was spread with all that nature yields,
And frugal only were the passing hours.

Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, we’ve left the world behind,
We’ve sung and danced and gossiped as we strayed;
And when within our little but your fingers draw the blind,
We’ll loiter by the fire that love has made.