Did the wee flowers know

Did the wee flowers know what sadness

Lay hid in my wounded heart,

They would shed soft tears till weeping

Made sorrow depart.

Did the nightingales know it, darling,

This sorrow endured so long,

They would sing full-throated to comfort

A suffering heart with song.

The bright stars, did they know it,

In pity of my woe

Would fall from their places in heaven

And shine in my breast below.

They none of them know it, darling:

The wound, and the heartache, and woe;

The hand that stabbed, and the weapon,

One only can know.