Behold, my love, how green the groves
The primrose banks how fair;
The balmy gales awake the flowers
And wave thy flowing hair

The lav'rock 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 skilfu' 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 milk-white 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 courtiers' gems may witness love
But, 'tis na love like mine