A man from a far country

Rose and Alice,

Oh, the pretty lassies,

With their mouths like a calice

And their hair a golden palace-

Through my heart like a lovely

wind they blow.

Though I am black and not comely,

Though I am black as the darkest trees,

I have swarms of gold that will fly

like honey-bees,

By the rivers of the sun

I will feed my words

Until they skip like those fleeced lambs

The waterfalls, and the rivers

(horned rams),

Then for all my darkness I shall be

The peacefulness of a lovely tree-

A tree wherein the golden birds

Are singing in the darkest branches, oh!