By all the winds of Summer-time! I'll seek the nymph again
Who wakes the grass between the stones to move the hearts of men,
Who blows a playful kiss or two of dandelion-down,
And sends the gipsy butterfly to lure a lad from town.
I'm going to build a bungalow,
A bing-bang bungalow,
A creeper-curtained bungalow, where hemlocks idly dream.
I'm going to build a bungalow,
A bing-bang bungalow,
A cedar-shingled bungalow beside a mountain stream.

The beams shall be of maple wood, the floors of healthful pine;
The spruce, with rough and resined bark, shall wall this house of mine;
While round about, of ample breadth, a rustic porch shall run
Below a birchen canopy against the checkered sun.
I'm going to build a bungalow,
A bing-bang bungalow,
A forest-fragrant bungalow with room for three or four.
I'm going to build a bungalow,
A bing-bang bungalow,
A zephyr-haunted bungalow beside a rippled shore.

With every quick-eyed featherling that loves the friendly wood,
With all the gentle furry folk I'll dwell in brotherhood.
My castle roof shall bear the proof of crystal-arrowed rain,
And Peace shall be my seneschal, and Love my chatelaine.
I'm going to build a bungalow,
A bing-bang bungalow,
An open-hearted bungalow devoid of bolts and bars.
I'm going to build a bungalow,
A bing-bang bungalow,
A tranquil little bungalow to rest beneath the stars.