French Peasant Songs
I
O fair apple-tree, and O fair apple-tree!
As heavy and sweet as the blossoms on thee,
My heart is heavy with love.
It wanteth but a little wind
To make the blossoms fall;
It wanteth but a young lover
To win me heart and all.
II
I send my love letters
By larks on the wing;
My love sends me letters
When nightingales sing.
Without reading or writing,
Their burden we know:
They only say, ‘Love me,
Who love you so.’
III
And if they ask for me, brother,
Say I come never home,
For I have taken a strange wife
Beyond the salt sea foam.
The green grass is my bridal bed,
The black tomb my good mother,
The stones and dust within the grave
Are my sister and my brother.
