I'm out with all the world to-day,
So all the world to me is grey,
Ah me! the bonny world.
Glad birds are building in the tree,
For them I have no sympathy;
From out the grove a thrush pipes clear,
I have no wish his song to hear;
From tangled boughs that young buds share
With last year's leaves, a startled hare
A moment peeps and then away;
I have no laughter for his play,
For all the sunny sky is grey,
The weariest I am to-day
In all the weary world
Perchance to-morrow's hidden store
May bring my heart's content once more,
The sweet young spring comes very fair
With summer's breath and golden air;
And I may think there cannot be
A maid so blessed on land or sea.
I'm out, though, with the world to-day,
So all the world to me is grey,
Ah me! the bonny world.
