An Old Folk Song
As the cherry glows in the garden,
So she, the loved one, grows—
So I my love caress.
There’s a gossiping tongue in the houses,
The women among:
“For the dance she will not dress!”
O love adored, I must leave thee
Safe in the care of the Lord:
But a long way I must roam—
Expect me, Sweetheart, for a visit
When grass shall start
On the threshold of thy home.
“Green grass has swayed on my threshold—
Silken grass begins to fade.
For my love I wait—I wait—
A dove calls now in the garden
From the withered bough
Stuck in the ground by the gate.
‘Oi-oi-oi-oi!’ she is cooing,
‘He comes no more a-wooing.’”