Five songs for soprano or tenor , opus 15

Five lilies pulled King Olaf,
And climbed the chamber stair;
"These lilies for my Thyri be,
At her white throat to wear."

The tears were in Queen Thyri's eyes,
When he came through the door;
She took the blossoms that he brought,
And flung them on the floor.

"I weep, O King, for my lost lands;
My meadows by the sea;
The steepled streets of that old town,
Where I was wont to be!

"And is it lands or lilies, King,
That be more fair to see?
Go forth and battle with my kin,
And get them back for me."

"Give me one kiss from thy red mouth,"
Said Olaf, Norway's king;
"And all my ships shall sail away,
Thy lost lands back to bring."

Oh, then she kissed him! Out he strode,
Loud clanged the heavy door.
The five white lilies withered there,
Upon the chamber floor.

The ship came sailing, sailing,
Into our old town--
My love combed out her golden hair;
It fell to the hem of her gown.
Oh, my heart, break!

No master and no crew was hers,
A ship of the dead was she,
And sailing, sailing, sailing--
The folk ran out to see.
Oh, my heart, break!

And first they said nor yea, nor nay;
Then some began to weep;
And some did count their little lads,
As a shepherd counts his sheep.
Oh, my heart, break!

Oh, sailing, sailing, sailing--
"Whom will it be?" said they;
"She never sails to this our town
But one doth go away."
Oh, my heart, break!

"Yea, one will go from this our town
And come back nevermore;
Whate'er His will, Lord God is good;"
Thus I at my love's door.
Oh, my heart, break!

Thereat I turned into the house
And climbed up my love's stair,
And called her softly--through the dusk
I saw her golden hair.
Oh, my heart, break!

Who went away from our old town
And came back nevermore?
It was my love; she lay there dead
Upon the chamber floor.
Oh, my heart break!

Oh, hush, my heart, and take thine ease,
For here is April weather!
The daffodils beneath the trees
Are all a-row together.

The thrush is back with his old note;
The scarlet tulip blowing;
A white -- ay, white as my love's throat --
The dogwood boughs are growing.

The lilac bush is sweet again;
Down every wind that passes,
Fly flakes from hedgerow and from lane;
The bees are in the grasses.

And Grief goes out, and Joy comes in,
And Care is but a feather;
And every lad his love can win,
For here is April weather.

There is a garden of roses far away to the east, 
Where a maiden lies asleep; 
The roses have no thorns in that garden, 
And they grow softly about her 
And make a pillow for her fair head. 
A blustering wind came once and nearly waked her, 
But she was so beautiful that  he fell deep  in  love;  
And he  turned  into  the softest  breeze
That  ever fanned a woman's cheek in summer, 
For fear lest he should trouble her sleep. 

Whether we love or hate, 
The world goes round;
Whether we smile or frown,
The sun comes up, goes down,
Early and late;
Whether we love or hate,
The world goes round.