| Lyrics: | LONDONDERRY AIR
Would God I were the tender apple blossom
That floats and falls from
off the twisted bough,
To lie and faint within you silken bosom,
Within your silken bosom
as that does now!
Or would I were a little burnish'd apple
For you to pluck me,
gliding by so cold,
While sun and shade you robe of lawn will dapple,
Your robe
of lawn, and you hair's spun gold.
Yea, would to God I were among the roses
That
lean to kiss you as you float between,
While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses,
A bud
uncloses, to touch you, queen.
Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing,
A happy daisy, in the garden path;
That so your silver foot might press me going,
Might press me going even unto death.
Traditional old Irish
melody.
@courtship
filename[ LONDERRY
DC
===DOCUMENT BOUNDARY |
