歌词
The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow,
With his hand in his bosom and his head upon his knee.
O willow, willow, willow shall be my garland.
Sing all a green willow, willow willow willow,
Aye me, the green willow must be my garland.
He sigh’d in his singing, and made a great moan.
Sing willow, willow, willow,
I am dead to all pleasures,
my true love she is gone.
The mute bird sat by him was made tame by his moans.
Sing willow, willow willow,
The true tears fell from him would have melted the stones.
O willow, willow, willow
shall be my garland.
Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow,
Aye me the green willow must be my garland.
Take this for my farewell
and latest adieu:
Write this on my tomb: that in love I was true.
专辑信息