The winter it is past, and the summer comes at last
And the small birds, they sing on ev’ry tree;
Now ev’ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the breer, bythe waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet orthe bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
Butmy true love is parted from me.