WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW.
A poor soul sat sighing under a sycamore tree;
"O willow, willow, willow!"
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
"O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."
He sighed in his singing, and after each groan,
"Come willow, willow, willow!
I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove:
O willow, willow, willow!
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
"O pity me," cried he, "ye lovers, each one;
O willow, willow, willow!
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my moan.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and."
The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;
"O willow, willow, willow!"
The salt tears fell from him, which drown-ed his face:
"O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87