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,
Ay me, the green willow
Must be my garland.
He sighed in his singing, and made a great moan,
Sing willow, willow, willow
I am dead to all pleasure, my true love she is gone,
O willow, willow, willow, willow
O willow, willow, willow, willow
Shall be my garland.
The fresh streams ran by him and murmured his moans,
Sing willow, willow, willow
His salt tears fell from him, and softened the stones,
O willow, willow, willow, willow
O willow, willow, willow, willow
Shall be my garland.
Come all you forsaken and mourn you with me,
Sing willow, willow, willow
Who speaks of a false love, mine's falser yet than she,
O willow, willow, willow, willow
O willow, willow, willow, willow
Shall be my garland.