My love is the maid ov all maidens,
Though all mid be comely,
Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom
A-spread in the Spring.
Her smile is so sweet as a beaeby's
Young smile on his mother,
Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop
A-shed in the Spring.
O grey-leafy pinks o' the geaerden,
Now bear her sweet blossoms;
Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar.
Her head in the Spring.
O light-rollen wind blow me hither,
The vaeice ov her talken,
Or bring vrom her veet the light doust,
She do tread in the Spring.
O zun, meaeke the gil'cups all glitter,
In goold all around her;
An' meaeke o' the deaeisys' white flowers
A bed in the Spring.
O whissle gay birds, up bezide her,
In drong-way, an' woodlands,
O zing, swingen lark, now the clouds,
Be a-vled in the Spring.
An' who, you mid ax, be my praises
A-meaeken so much o',
An' oh! 'tis the maid I'm a-hopen
To wed in the Spring.