(RTim's Version)
The winter's gone and past,
and the summer's come at last,
And the small birds are on every tree,
And many a heart is glad, but my poor heart is sad,
Since my true love has been absent from me.
I should not think it strange,
the wide world for to range
In hoping for to find my heart’s delight
But now in Cupid’s chains I’m obliged to remain
And in sorrow I must spend my whole life.
I will dress myself in black,
With a fringe all around my neck,
Gold rings all on my fingers I will wear,
Then straightway I’ll repair to the county of Kildare,
And some tidings I may hear of my dear.
My love is like the sun in the pleasant month of June
That do always prove constant and true
But hers is like the moon that do wender up & down
And in every month it is new. | (Version from Southern Harvest)
The winter’s gone and past,
Pleasant summer’s come at last,
And the small birds sing on every green tree;
There is many a heart is glad,
Oh, but my poor heart is sad,
Since my true love has gone absent from me.
I should not think it strange,
The wide world for to range,
In hoping for to find my heart’s delight;
But now in Cupid’s chains,
I’m oblig’d for to remain,
And in sorrow I must spend my whole life.
I will dress myself in black,
With a fringe all round my neck,
Gold rings all on my fingers I will wear;
Then straightway I’ll repair,
To the county of Kildare,
And some tidings I may have of my dear.
My love is like the sun,
In the pleasant month of June,
That do always prove constant and true;
But his is like the moon,
That do wender up and down,
And in every month it is new. |