the wi is past
the wi is past, and the summer es at st
and the small birds, they sing on ev'ry tree;
now ev'ry thing is gd, while i am very sad,
since my true love is parted from me.
the rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,
may have charms for the li or the bee;
their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
but my true love is parted from me.