Thanks for the heads-up Maeve, here's what I transcribed:

The weaver's first daughter was born in the Spring
But the low moon lay sleeping and the birds would not sing
She died on the eve of her very first day
But no tear would he shed as he laid her away
But he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early
And he sat by his loom in the gloom of the night

The weaver's next daughter was born with the sun
At the dawning of Summer when a new day had begun
She died of the pox in her very first year
As he laid her away he would shed not a tear
But he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early
And he walked in the rain with the cane of a willow

The weaver's third daughter was born with the Fall
When the leaves on the trees whispered soft on the wall
She was found in the river with her hand on the shore
She was three years of age but he cried not once more
And he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early
And he stood by the sea lost with dreams in his head

The weaver's fourth daughter was born with the snow
On a cold Winters eve but he let his heart go
But she left in the Spring of her Seventeenth year
With a gypsy from Spain with a ring in his ear
And he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early
But no tear would he shed as he read from his book….
And he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early
But no tear would he shed as he read from his book
By the fire