A Folk Song

I came to your town, my love, And you were away, away! I said "She is with the Queen's maidens: They tarry long at their play. They are stringing her words like pearls To throw to the dukes and earls." But O, the pity! I had but a morn of windy red To come to the town where you were bred, And you were away, away! I came to your town, my love, And you were away, away! I said, "She is with the mountain elves And misty and fair as they. They are spinning a diamond net To cover her curls of jet." But O, the pity! I had but a noon of searing heat To come to your town, my love, my sweet, And you were away, away! I came to your town, my love, And you were away, away! I said, "She is with the pale white saints, And they tarry long to pray. They give her a white lily-crown, And I fear she will never come down." But O, the pity! I had but an even grey and wan To come to your town and plead as man, And you were away, away!