Over the meadows of June
The plovers are crying
All night under the moon
That silvers with ghostly light
The thatch of the little old cottage, so lonely to-night.
Lonely and empty it stands
By the signpost that stretches white hands,
Pointing to far-away lands
Where alone and apart we are lying.

Lonely and empty of all delight
It stands in the blind white night;
And under the thatch there is no one to hark to the crying,
The restless voices of plovers flying and crying
Over the meadows of June,
All night under the moon