Mediaeval Baebes - Under The Willow Tree | Текст песни

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• Mediaeval Baebes
• Under The Willow Tree

Here upon my true love's grave,
Shall the barren flowers be laid;
Not one holy saint to save,
All the celness of a maid:

Black his hair as winter’s night,
White he rode as the summer snow,
Red his face as the morning light;
Cold he lies in the grave below.

My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
Under the willow-tree.

Come, with acorn-cup and thorne,
Drain my hartys blood away;
Life and all its good I scorn,
Dance by night, or feast by day.

Water-witches, crowned with reytes,
Bear me to your lethal tide.
I die! I come! My true love waits;-
Thus the damsel spake and died.

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