The Willow Song - Woods of Birnam

A poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,

Sing all the green willow, willow

Her hand on her bosom, her hand on her knee

Sing all the green willow, willow

Must be in my garland

The fresh streams ran by her and murmur’d her moans

Sing willow, willow

Her salt tears ran from her and soften’d the stones

Sing all the green willow, willow

Must be in my garland

I call’d my love false love but what said he then?

Sing willow, willow, willow

If I court more women, you’ll couch with moe men!

Nobody blame me;

scorn I approve

Nobody blame me;

scorn I approve