Chorus.
Oh meet me, oh meet me,
When you hear the first whip-poor-will’s song.
’Tis said that, whatever sweet feelings
May be throbbing within a fond heart,
When listening to whip-poor-will’s singing,
For a twelvemonth will never depart;
So then we will meet in the woodland,
Far away from the hurrying throng,
And whisper our love to each other,