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The Nightingale

de Karan Casey

She's like the swallow that flies on high
She's like the river that never runs dry
She's like the sun beaming on the lea shore
I love my love, but love is no more

A maiden into her garden did go
For to pluck her some wild primrose
The more she plucked, the more she did pull
Until this maiden's apron was full

Then out of these roses she made a bed
A scarlet pillow for her head
She laid her down, no words she did speak
And then this maiden's heart, it did break

She's like the swallow that flies on high
She's like the river that never runs dry
She's like the sun beaming on the lea shore
I love my love, but love is no more
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