But in the lamp’s full glare;
No gentle whisperin’ words are spoke—
Why sit ye on the stair?
The runkled carle that’s by your side
No tale of luve can tell;
He fain wad win ye for his bride
By talkin’ o’ himsel’.
Your voice is clear, your laugh is cheer,
But oh, your eyes are sad;
You answer what the gaffer says,