SURE it looks the same, but 'tis all different too,
I spin, an’ knit, an’ sing, in the way I used to do:
But the spindle pricks my finger, an’ my voice dies down,
For where’s the use o’ watchin’ at the road from the town?
⁠Sunrise, sunset,
⁠Slow goes the day,
⁠'Tis here he was, an’ I am here,
⁠An’ he is gone away.

Violets at the brookside, I smell them when I pass,
But where’s the boy that picked them as we laughed along the grass?
“No bluer than your two eyes.” How soon do eyes grow dim?
Mine have learnt the tear-sting since last they looked on him.
⁠Sunrise, sunset,
⁠Long night and day!
⁠'Tis here he was, an’ I am here,
⁠An’ he is gone away.