Behold, My Love, How Green The Groves
Tune—"My lodging is on the cold ground."
Behold, my love, how green the groves, The primrose banks how fair; The balmy gales awake the flowers, And wave thy flowing hair. The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, And o'er the cottage sings: For Nature smiles as sweet, I ween, To Shepherds as to Kings. Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string, In lordly lighted ha': The Shepherd stops his simple reed, Blythe in the birken shaw. The Princely revel may survey Our rustic dance wi' scorn; But are their hearts as light as ours, Beneath the milk-white thorn! The shepherd, in the flowery glen; In shepherd's phrase, will woo: The courtier tells a finer tale, But is his heart as true! These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck That spotless breast o' thine: The courtiers' gems may witness love, But, 'tis na love like mine.