Among the sheaves—the golden sheaves,
An empty heart, I walk forlorn:
How sadly sigh the alder leaves—
I loathe those fields of mellow corn!
Among the sheaves—the golden sheaves,
My heart is full, new hopes are born:
My heart is faint—for Hope deceives:
My passion may be met by scorn!
Among the sheaves—the golden sheaves,
My Love is won! No more forlorn,
How sweet the whisp'ring alder leaves—
I bless those fields of mellow corn!