Who would lie down and close his eyes
While yet the lark sings o'er the dale?
Who would to Love make no replies,
Nor drink the nut-brown ale,
While throbs the pulse, and full's the purse
And all the world's for sale?
Though wintry blasts may prove unkind,
When winter's past we do forget;
Love's breast in summer-time is kind,
And all's well while life's with us yet.
Hey ho, now the lark is mating—
Life's sweet wages are in waiting!
TO THE VALLEY
Come hither, oh come hither,
There's a bride upon her bed;
They have strewn her o'er with roses,
There are roses 'neath her head:
Life is love and tears and laughter,
But the laughter it is dead—
Sing the way to the Valley, to the Valley-
Hey, but the roses they are red!
THE LILY FLOWER
Oh, love, it is a lily flower,
(Sing, my captain, sing, my lady!)
The sword shall cleave it, Life shall leave it—
Who shall know the hour?
(Sing, my lady, still!)
LOVE IN HER COLD GRAVE LIES
Love in her cold grave lies,
But that is not my love:
My love hath constant eyes,
My love her life doth prove;
That love, the poorer, dies—
Ah, that is not my love!
Love in her cold grave lies,
But she will wake again;
With trembling feet will rise,
Will call this love in vain,
That she doth now despise
Ah, love shall wake again!
GRANADA, GRANADA
Granada, Granada, thy gardens are gay,
And bright are thy stars, the high stars above;
But as flowers that fade and are grey,
But as dusk at the end of the day
Are ye to the light in the eyes of my love—
In the eyes, in the soul, of my love.