This morn I set my little world to rights.

I polished every pot and pan

Till it glistened in the sun,

Swept and dusted all the chairs,

Washed the windows, one by one,

Put things in their proper place

Hung fresh curtains, crisp and white,

Brought in wood and laid a fire,

Filled the lamps against the night.

This morn I set my little world to rights.

'Tis eve, and he has come and gone

Nor stayed long here, but just to say

A war was being fought, that he must go,

That he would ne'er forget me, though away.

Just that, and then a kiss-goodbye-

And clicked the gate as he went out.

The rolling echo of that click

Beats still upon my brain. He's gone!

The firelight gleams on pot and pan.

The lamps all filled and cleaned

From their places on the window sills

Throw out their little beams.

The hearth is swept, the house is neat

This morn T set my little world to rights.

This eve my world's all tumbling round my head.