It was with doubt and trembling 
I whispered in her ear.
Go, take her answer, bird-on-bough,
That all the world may hear --
Sweetheart, sigh no more!

Sing it, sing it, tawny throat,
Upon the wayside tree,
How fair she is, how true she is,
How dear she is to me --
Sweetheart, sigh no more!

Sing it, sing it, tawny throat, 
And through the summer long
The winds among the clover-tops
And brooks, for all their silvery stops,
Shall envy you the song --
Sweetheart, sigh no more!