O men from the fields, 
Come gently within. 
Tread softly, softly 
O men coming in! 
Mavourneen is going 
From me and from you, 
Where Mary will fold him 
With mantle of blue! 
From reek of the smoke 
And cold of the floor 
And the peering of things 
Across the half-door. 
O men of the fields, 
Soft, softly come thro' 
Mary puts round him 
Her mantle of blue.