Spoken:
Widow with shawl, a portrait

Dear wind that shakes the barley free
Blow home my true love's ship to me, fill her sail
I, a-weary, wait upon the shore

Forsake her not in times of storm
Protect her oaken beams from harm, fill her sail
I, a-weary, wait upon the shore

Whether he be in Africa
Or deep asleep in India, fill his dreams
I, a-weary, wait upon the shore

Dear snow-white gulls upon the wave
I, like you, are lamenting for my love
I, a-weary, wait upon the shore

For seven years and seven days
No man has seen my woman ways, dear God
I, a-weary, cry upon the shore