The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree
Sing all a green willow
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee
cho: Sing willow, willow, willow, willow!
Sing willow, willow, willow, willow!
My garland shall be;
Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow
Sing all a green willow
My garland shall be.
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmer'd her moans
Sing willow, willow, willow
Her salt tears fell from her and soft'ned the stones.
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Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve
Sing willow, willow, willow
He was born to be fair, I to die for his love,
I call'd my love false love but what said he then?
Sing willow, willow, willow
If I court more women, you'll couch with more men.
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