Clatter -- the milkman at my doorstep, bustle -- my neighbour at her tea;

In all the world no one's so glad to see the sun as me.

Angeline is always Friday, Angeline is spring forever;

Winter Angeline could never be.

Mister Wilson, old and smiling, lifts his cap as she is passing,

Bowing her politely on to me.

Chorus:

The week has gone its lonely way;

I've waited for my only day

Away from shadows,

In her sunlight I can tell her,