Lucy, my lass, when the jasmine blows,
And the dogwood decks in his blossomy snows;
When the daffodil's flag in the breeze unfurls,
And the cherry is flecked with a frost of pearls;
When the redbird soars and the bluebird sings,
And the buff meadowlark through the broomsedge wings;
When the tanager flits like a flame above,
I think of you ever, my lassie, my love.

Lucy, my lass, in the summer's heat,
When the sun rays flash in the golden wheat;
When I hear the call of the far-off quail;
When I see the swirl of the scythe and flail;
When the cricket chirps in the long lush grass,
And the zinnia glows like a shield of brass;
When the blue haze hangs on the dreamy hill,
My lucy, my lassie, I am faithful still.

Lucy, my lass, when the asters shine,
And the muscadine hangs on its glossy vine;
When the goldenrod sets all the fields afire,
And the sad wind sighs like a lover's lyre;
When the sumach robes in velvet of red,
And the purple and gold of the woods are shed;
When the south-winged cranes fleck the evening sky,
My lassie, my Lucy, I wish you were nigh.

Lucy, my lass, when the snowflakes come,
And the blooms are dead and the birds are dumb;
When the forest and fields are sullied with blight,
And the chill clouds spread in the winter night;
When the youth and joy of the year have sped,
And its royal hopes and its dreams have fled,
You come unto me like a darling dove,
And I welcome you gladly, Lucy, my love.