French Folk-Song

I LAVED my hands By the water-side, With willow leaves My hands I dried.

The nightingale sang On the bough of a tree, Sing, sweet nightingale, It is well with thee.

Thou hast heart’s delight, I have sad heart’s sorrow, For a false false maid That will wed to-morrow.

It is all for a rose That I gave her not, And I would that it grew In the garden plot,

And I would the rose-tree Were still to set, That my love Marie Might love me yet!