The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing willow, willow, willow,
With his hand in his bosom and his head upon his knee,
O willow willow willow willow,
O willow willow willow willow,shall be my garland.
Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow;
Cye me the green willow shall be my garland!
The mute bird sat by him, was made tame by his moanes,
Sing willow, willow, willow,
The true tears fell from him would have melted the stones,
Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow;
Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow;
Shall be my garland.