| lyric | 1. The winter it is past and the summer's come at last
and the small birds they sing onevery tree;
their little hearts are glad but mine is very sad,
since my true love is far away from me.
2. The rose upon the brier, by the water running clear,
Gives joy to the Iinnet and the beer,
Their little hearts are blest, but mine is not at rest,
While my true love is absent from me.
3. A livery I’ll wear, and I’ll comb back my hair,
And in velvet so green I will appear,
And straight I will repair the Curragh of Kildare,
For it’s there I’ll find tidings of my dear.
4. I’ll wear acap of black, with a frill around my neck,
Gold rings on my fingers I wear,
It’s this I undertake, for my true lover’s sake,
He resides at the Curragh of Kildare.
5. I would not think it strange, thus the world for to range,
If I only got tidings of my dear,
But here in Cupid’s Chain, if I’m bound to remain,
I would spend my whole life in despair.
6. My love is like the sun, that in the firmament does run,
And always proves constant and true,
But this is like the moon, that wanders up and down,
And every month is new.
7. All you that are in love and cannot it remove,
I pity the pains you endure,
For experience let me know, that your hearts are full of woe,
And a woe that no mortal can cure. |