When last I stray'd into the glade,
All things were green and blooming.
The roses there were blushing fair,
All that lay round perfuming.
I drew me near a fountain clear,
Which fresh  and gay was playing,
And there I saw my own true love,
And she for me was staying.

I cannot tell how it befel,
That she should kindly greet me,
For I might say, before that day,
Most hardly did she treat me.
But let that be, she's dear to me,
Yet love I not as brother,
And if she lay in her cold clay,
I ne'er could love another.