| I wish, I wish
|
| But it’s all in vain
|
| I wish I were a maid again
|
| But a maid again I will never be
|
| Till apples grow on an orange tree
|
| And I wish my baby, it was born
|
| And smiling on its papa’s knee
|
| Am I to be in yon church yard
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| With long, green grass growing over me
|
| And I wish, I wish
|
| But it’s all in vain
|
| I wish I were a maid again
|
| But a maid again I will never be
|
| Till apples grow on an orange tree
|
| When my apron strings hung low
|
| He followed me through frost and snow
|
| But now my apron’s to my chin
|
| He passes by and says nothing
|
| And I wish, I wish
|
| But it’s all in vain
|
| I wish I were a maid again
|
| But a maid again I will never be
|
| Till apples grow on an orange tree
|
| And oh grief, oh grief I’ll tell you why
|
| That girl has more gold than I
|
| More gold than I, and beauty and fame
|
| But she will come like me again
|
| And I wish, I wish
|
| But it’s all in vain
|
| I wish I were a maid again
|
| But a maid again I will never be
|
| Till apples grow on an orange tree
|
| And I wish, I wish
|
| But it’s all in vain
|
| I wish I were a maid again
|
| But a maid again I will never be
|
| Till apples grow on an orange tree |