 | Irish Songs and Ballads |  |
116
THE WILLOW TREE.
Oh, take me to your arms, love, for we alas must part;
Oh, take me to your arms, love, for the pain is at my heart.
She hears not, she cares not, but coldly keeps from me,
While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree.
Oh, take me to your arms, love, for the pain is at my heart.
She hears not, she cares not, but coldly keeps from me,
While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree.
My love has blooming beauty, my cheek is deadly wan;
My love has countless riches, my gallant fortune's gone.
This ribbon fair, that bound her hair, is all that's left to me,
While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree.
My love has countless riches, my gallant fortune's gone.
This ribbon fair, that bound her hair, is all that's left to me,
While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree.
I once had gold and silver I thought would never end:
I once had gold and silver, and I thought I had a friend:
My wealth is sped, my friend has fled and stolen my love from me;
While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree.
I once had gold and silver, and I thought I had a friend:
My wealth is sped, my friend has fled and stolen my love from me;
While here I lie, alone to die, beneath the willow tree.
| Irish Songs and Ballads | |