My love is the maïd ov all maïdens,
Though all mid be comely,
Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom
A-spread in the Spring.
Her smile is so sweet as a beäby'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 geärden,
Now bear her sweet blossoms;
Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar.
Her head in the Spring.
O light-rollèn wind blow me hither,
The väice ov her talkèn,
Or bring vrom her veet the light doust,
She do tread in the Spring.
O zun, meäke the gil'cups all glitter,
In goold all around her;
An' meäke o' the deäisys' white flowers
A bed in the Spring.
O whissle gaÿ birds, up bezide her,
In drong-waÿ, an' woodlands,
O zing, swingèn lark, now the clouds,
Be a-vled in the Spring.
An' who, you mid ax, be my praïses
A-meäkèn so much o',
An' oh! 'tis the maïd I'm a-hopèn
To wed in the Spring.
