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.”
The mute birds sat by him, made tame by his moans:
“O willow, willow, willow!”
The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones.
“O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
“Let nobody blame me, her scorns I do prove;
O willow, willow, willow!
She was born to be fair; I, to die for her love.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
“O that beauty should harbour a heart that’s so hard!
Sing willow, willow, willow!
My true love rejecting without all regard.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
“Let love no more boast him in palace or bower;
O willow, willow, willow!
For women are trothless, and fleet in an hour.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
“But what helps complaining? In vain I complain:
O willow, willow, willow!
I must patiently suffer her scorn and disdain.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
“Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,
O willow, willow, willow!
He that plains of his false love, mine’s falser than she.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.
“The willow wreath wear I, since my love did fleet;
O willow, willow, willow!
A garland for lovers forsaken most meet.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the green willow shall be my garl-and.”