(Ding-dong, ding-a-dong-dey),
And she was as fair as the loveliest flower
That nods in the girdle of May.
The floor of her bower was strewn with green rushes;
Full many knights' banners hung waving above;
And round her young minstrels stood singing like thrushes
Brave ballads of lovers and love,
Dove—
Wooings and cooings of love.
But over their harping and over their singing,