Dreams

A poem by William Henry Drummond

Bord á Plouffe, Bord á Plouffe,
W'at do I see w'en I dream of you?
A shore w'ere de water is racin' by,
A small boy lookin', an' wonderin' w'y
He can't get fedder for goin' fly
Lak de hawk makin' ring on de summer sky.
Dat 's w'at I see.

Bord á Plouffe, Bord á Plouffe,
W'at do I hear w'en i dream of you?
Too many t'ing for sleepin' well!
De song of de ole tam cariole bell,
De voice of dat girl from Sainte Angèle
(I geev' her a ring was mark "fidèle")
Dat 's what I hear.

Bord á Plouffe, Bord á Plouffe,
W'at do I smoke w'en I dream of you?
Havana cigar from across de sea,
An' get dem for not'ing too? No siree!
Dere 's only wan kin' of tabac for me.
An' it grow on de Rivière des Prairies-
Dat 's what I smoke.

Bord á Plouffe, Bord á Plouffe,
How go I feel w'en I t'ink of you?
Sick, sick for the ole place way back dere-
An' to sleep on ma own leetle room upstair
W'ere de ghos' on de chimley mak' me scare
I 'd geev' more monee dan I can spare-
Dat 's how I feel.

Bord á Plouffe, Bord á Plouffe,
W'at will I do w'en I 'm back wit' you?
I 'll buy de farm of Bonhomme Martel,
Long tam he 's been waitin' a chance to sell,
Den pass de nex' morning on Sainte Angèle,
An' if she 's not marry -dat girl- very well,
Dat 's w'at I 'll do.