False love

Now we hear the Spring's sweet voice

Singing gladly through the world;

Bidding all the earth rejoice.

All is merry in the field,

Flowers grow amidst the grass,

Blossoms blue, red, white they yield.

As I seek my maiden true,

Sings the little lark on high

Fain to send her praises due.

As I climb and reach her door,

Ah! I see a rival there,

So farewell! for evermore.

Ever true was I to thee,

Never grieved or vexed thee, love,

False, oh! false, art thou of me.

Now amid the forest green,

Far from cruel eyes that mock

Will I dwell unloved, unseen.