Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
O SING unto my roundelay, | |
O drop the briny tear with me; | |
Dance no more at holyday, | |
Like a running river be: | |
My love is dead, | 5 |
Gone to his death-bed | |
All under the willow-tree. | |
|
Black his cryne as the winter night, | |
White his rode as the summer snow, | |
Red his face as the morning light, | 10 |
Cold he lies in the grave below: | |
My love is dead, | |
Gone to his death-bed | |
All under the willow-tree. | |
|
Sweet his tongue as the throstle’s note, | 15 |
Quick in dance as thought can be, | |
Deft his tabor, cudgel stout; | |
O he lies by the willow-tree! | |
My love is dead, | |
Gone to his death-bed | 20 |
All under the willow-tree. | |
|
Hark! the raven flaps his wing | |
In the brier’d dell below; | |
Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing | |
To the nightmares, as they go: | 25 |
My love is dead, | |
Gone to his death-bed | |
All under the willow-tree. | |
|
See! the white moon shines on high; | |
Whiter is my true-love’s shroud: | 30 |
Whiter than the morning sky, | |
Whiter than the evening cloud: | |
My love is dead, | |
Gone to his death-bed | |
All under the willow-tree. | 35 |
|
Here upon my true-love’s grave | |
Shall the barren flowers be laid; | |
Not one holy saint to save | |
All the coldness of a maid: | |
My love is dead, | 40 |
Gone to his death-bed | |
All under the willow-tree. | |
|
With my hands I’ll dent the briers | |
Round his holy corse to gre: | |
Ouph and fairy, light your fires, | 45 |
Here my body still shall be: | |
My love is dead, | |
Gone to his death-bed | |
All under the willow-tree. | |
|
Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, | 50 |
Drain my heartès blood away; | |
Life and all its good I scorn, | |
Dance by night, or feast by day: | |
My love is dead, | |
Gone to his death-bed | 55 |
All under the willow-tree. | |