Dear little Hut by the rice-fields circled,
That cocoa-nuts shade above.
I hear the voices of children singing,
And that means love.
When shall the traveller's march be over,
When shall his wandering cease?
This little homestead is bare and simple,
And that means peace.
Nay! to the road I am not unfaithful;
In tents let my dwelling be!
I am not longing for Peace or Passion
From any one else but thee,
Any one else but thee!