When I Come Home

WHEN I come home, dear folk o' mine, We'll drink a cup of olden wine; And yet, however rich it be, No wine will taste so good to me As English air. How I shall thrill To drink it in on Hampstead Hill When I come home!

When I come home, and leave behind Dark things I would not call to mind, I'll taste good ale and home-made bread, And see white sheets and pillows spread. And there is one who'll softly creep To kiss me, ere I fall asleep, And tuck me 'neath the counterpane, And I shall be a boy again, When I come home!

When I come home from dark to light, And tread the roadways long and white, And tramp the lanes I tramped of yore, And see the village greens once more, The tranquil farms, the meadows free, The friendly trees that nod to me, And hear the lark beneath the sun, 'Twill be good pay for what I've done, When I come home! Leslie Coulson