In a green arbour, down by the water side, There as I lay, I heard a bird complain: 'Sweet, sweet is love in the flowering springtime, but O flown, flown in the cold autumn rain.' I turned as I lay, and looked at my loved one Lying there lightly, and breathing so near, And in the first sunlight ashift through the branches I learned me by heart the looks of my dear. Though fate should bereave me, or fickle love leave me, I hold my love safely, where nothing can us part, And it still springtime, and the birds still carolling, In the green aisles of memory, deep in my heart.