Delight it is in youth and May
To see the morn arise,
And more delight, or so they say,
To read in lovers’ eyes.
Oh maiden, let your distaff be,
And pace the flowery meads with me,
And I will tell you lies.
’Tis blithe to see the sunshine fail,
And hear the land grow still
And listen till the nightingale
Is heard beneath the hill.
Oh follow me where she is flown
Into the leafy woods alone,
And I will work you ill.