1.
As I walked forth one summer’s day
To view the meadows green and gay,
A pleasant bower I espied
Standing fast by the riverside:
And in’t a maiden I heard cry,
‘Alas, alas! There’s none ere loved as I.’
2.
Then round the meadow did she walk,
Catching each flower by the stalk;
Such flowers as in the meadow grew,
The dead man’s thumb, and harebell blue,
And as she pulled them, still cried she,
‘Alas, alas! There’s none ere loved like me.’
3.
The flowers of the sweetest scent
She bound about with knotty bents,
And as she bound them up in bands,
She wept, she sighed and she wrung her hands.
‘Alas, alas, alas’, cried she,
‘Alas, alas! There’s none ere loved like me’.
4.
When she had filled her apron full
Of such green things as she could cull,
The green leaves served her for her bed,
The flowers were the pillows for her head:
Then down she laid her, ne’er more did speak;
Alas, alas! With love her heart did break.