The winter it is past and the summers come at last
And the small birds they sing on every tree
Their little hearts are glad but mine is very sad
Since my true love is far away from me.
The rose upon the brier, by the water running clear
The winter it is past and the summers come at last
And the small birds they sing on every tree
Their little hearts are glad but mine is very sad
Since my true love is far away from me.
The rose upon the brier, by the water running clear