Long evenings full of longing

Low-spirited my mornings

Full of longing too my nights

And all the time the bitterest.

'Tis my lovely I long for

It is my darling I miss

My black-browed one I grieve for.



There's no hearing my treasure

No seeing my marten-breast

No hearing her in the lane

Driving below the window

Chopping the wood by the stack

Clinking outside the cook-house:



In the earth my berry lies

In the soil she's mouldering

Under the sand my sweet one

Beneath the grass my trasure

The one I grieve for