Thewinter it ispast and thesummer's come atlast
And small birds aresinging in the trees
Their little hearts areglad butmine is verysad
For mytrue love isfar away fromme
All you that are in love and cannot it remove
I pity the pain that you indure
For experience lets me know that your hearts are full of woe
It's a woe that no mortal can endure
A livery I will wear and I'll comb back my hair
In velvet so green I will appear
And it's then I will repair to the Curragh of Kildare
For it's there I; ll find tidings of my dear
The rose upon the briar and the water running free
Gives joy to the linnet and the bee
Their little hearts are blessed but mine is not at rest
For my true love is absent from me.
