There's a shabby little shanty leaning tipsy on a hill With an early lighted lamp already blinking; There's a fresh and starchy lady waiting on the clean door sill; And, looking on the fields, the lady's thinking: "He has ploughed the live-long day and he has sweated in the sun; Soon my cool and eager kiss he will be taking; And when all his chores are finished and the feeding has been done, He shall have the luscious pie I have been baking. "O, he may be just a plowman and go plodding through his days; He may toil and struggle through the toughest weather; In his shack he's always lord of all the region he surveys; In his shack a lord and lady live together!" |