And a garden with a view of the sea, John Brown;
I can sit at my door,
By my shady sycamore,
Large of heart, though of very small estate, John Brown;
So of water drain a glass,
In my arbor as you pass,
And I’ll tell you what I love, and what I hate, John Brown.
I love the song of birds,
And the children’s early words,
And a loving woman’s voice, low and sweet, John Brown;