
In the glad springtime when leaves were green,
O merrily the throstle sings!
I sought amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen.
O the glad dove has golden wings!
Between the blossoms red and white,
O merrily the throstle sings!
O perfect vision of delight,
O the glad dove has golden wings!
But now with snow the tree is grey,
Ah, sadly now the throstle sings!
My love is dead: ah! well-a-day,
See at her silent feet I lay
A dove with broken wings!
Ah, Love! ah, Love! that thou wert slain—
Fond Dove, fond Dove return again!
O the glad dove has golden wings...
Ah, Love, return again...