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letra de under the willow tree - mediæval bæbes

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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 summer snow
red his face as morning light;
cold he lies below

my love is dead
gone to his death-bed
under the willow-tree

come, with acorn-cup and th-rne
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

my love is dead
gone to his death-bed
under the willow-tree

- mediaeval baebes

letras aleatórias

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