Here upon my true love's grave,
Shall the barren flowers be laid;
Not one holy saint to save,
All the celness of a maid:
Black his hair as winter’s night,
White he rode as the summer snow,
Red his face as the morning light;
Cold he lies in the grave below.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
Under the willow-tree.
Come, with acorn-cup and thorne,
Drain my hartys blood away;
Life and all its good I scorn,
Dance by night, or feast by day.
Water-witches, crowned with reytes,
Bear me to your lethal tide.
I die! I come! My true love waits;-
Thus the damsel spake and died.
Under The Willow Tree Lyrics performed by Mediæval Bæbes are property and copyright of the authors, artists and labels. You should note that Under The Willow Tree Lyrics performed by Mediæval Bæbes is only provided for educational purposes only and if you like the song you should buy the CD