MY love is the maïd ov all maïdens,

Though all mid be comely, may

Her skin's lik’ the jessamy blossom jasmine

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 vaïce ov her talkèn,

Or bring vrom her veet the light doust, dust

She do tread in the Spring.

O zun, meäke the gil'cups all glitter, buttercups

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, narrow lane

O zing, swingèn lark, now the clouds,

Be a-vled in the Spring. flown

An’ who, you mid ax, be my praïses may

A-meäkèn so much o’,

An’ oh! ‘tis the maïd I'm a-hopèn

To wed in the Spring.