Behold My Love, How Green The Groves

Behold, my Love, how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair:
The lavrock shuns the palace gay,
And o'er the cottage sings;
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings.

Let minstrels sweep the skillfu' string,
In lordly, lighted ha';
The shepherd stops his simple reed,
Blythe, in the birken shaw:
The princely revel may survey
Our rustic dance wi' scorn,
But are their hearts as light as ours,
Beneath the milkwhite thorn.

The shepherd, in the flowery glen,
In shepherd's phrase will woo;
The courtier tells a finer tale,
But is his heart as true:
These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, to deck
That spotless breast o' thine;
The courtier's gems may witness love
But, 'tis na love like mine.