| Gentle leaves, gentle leaves
|
| Please array a path for me
|
| The woods are blowing thick and fast around
|
| Columbine, Columbine
|
| Please alert this love of mine
|
| Let him know his Margaret comes along
|
| And all this stirring inside my belly
|
| Won’t quell my want for love
|
| And I may swoon from all this swelling
|
| But I won’t want for love
|
| Mistlethrush, Mistlethrush
|
| Lay me down in the underbrush
|
| My naked feet grow weary with the dusk
|
| Willow Boughs, Willow Boughs,
|
| Make a bed to lay me down
|
| Let your branches bow to cradle us
|
| And all this stirring inside my belly
|
| Won’t quell my want for love
|
| And I may swoon from all this swelling
|
| But I won’t want for love
|
| Oh, my own true love
|
| Oh, my own true love
|
| Can you hear me, love?
|
| Can you hear me, love?
|
| And all this stirring inside my belly
|
| Won’t quell my want for love
|
| And I may swoon from all this swelling
|
| But I won’t want for love
|
| Won’t want for love…
|
| Won’t want for love…
|
| Won’t want for love… |