The poem
He sleeps beside me in the bed; Upon my breast I hold his head; Oh how I would that we were wed, For he sails in the morning.
I wish I had not been so kind; But love is fain and passion blind, While out of sight is out of mind, And he ships in the morning.
I feel his bairn stir in my womb; Poor wee one, born to bitter doom; How dreary dark will be the gloom, When he goes in the morning!
A sailor lad has need to court A loving lass in every port; To him it's just a bit of sport . . . My heart-break's in the morning.