Delight it is in youth and May
  To see the morn arise,
And more delight to look all day
  A lover in the eyes.
Oh maiden, let your distaff be,
And pace the flowery meads with me,
  And I will tell you lies.

'Tis blithe to see the sunshine fail,
  And hear the land grow still
And listen till the nightingale
  Is heard beneath the hill.
Oh follow me where she is flown
Into the leafy woods alone,
  And I will work you ill.