Long evenings full of longing    Low-spirited my mornings    Full of longing too my nights    And all times the bitterest.    ‘Tis my lovly I long for    It is my darling I miss    My black-browed one I grieve for.       There’s no hearing my treasure    No seeing my marten-breast    No hearing her in the lane    Driving below the window    Chopping the wood by the stack    Clinking outside the cook-house:    In the earth my berry lies       In the soil she’s mouldering    Under the sand my sweet one    Beneath the grass my treasure    The one I grieve for.