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Saint Jo. Buchanan County. Is leagues and leagues away; And I sit in the gloom of this rented room. And pine to be there today. Yes, with the London fog around me And the bustling to and fro, I am fretting to be across the sea In Lover's lane, Saint Jo. I would have a brown-eyed maiden go driving once again; And I'd sing the song, as we snailed along That I sung to that maiden then; I purposely say "as we snailed along." for a proper horse goes slow in these leafy aisles where Cupid smiles In Lover's Lane, Saint Jo. But the maples they should shield us From the gossips of the place; Nor should the sun, except by pun. Profane the maiden's face; And the girl should do the driving For a fellow can't you know, Unless he's neglectful of what's respectful In Lover's Lane, Saint Jo. Ah! sweet the hours of springtime, When the heart inclines to woo, And it's deemed all right for the callow wight To do what he wants to do; But cruel the age of winter, When the way of the world says no To the hoary men who would woo again In Lover's lane, Saint Jo. In the Union Bank of London Are forty pounds or more, Which I'm like to spend, ere the month shall end In an antiquarian store; But I'd give it all and gladly. If for an hour or so I could feel the grace of a distance place - In Lover's Lane, Saint Jo. Let us sit awhile, beloved, And dream of the good old days - of the kindly shade which the maples made Round the staunch but squeaky chaise; With your head upon my shoulder. And my arm about you so, Though exiles, we shall seem to be In Lover's Lane, Saint Jo. |
