She's like the swallow that flies on high
She's like the river that [bad word] dry
She's like the sun beaming on the lea shore
I love my love, but love is no more

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
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 [bad word] dry
She's like the sun beaming on the lea shore
I love my love, but love is no more