My love is the maïd ov all maïdens,
  Though all mid be comely,
Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom
  A-spread in the Spring.

Her smile is so sweet as a beäby's
  Young smile on his mother,
Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop
  A-shed in the Spring.

O grey-leafy pinks o' the geärden,
  Now bear her sweet blossoms;
Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar,
  Her head in the Spring.

O light-rollèn wind blow me hither,
  The vaïce ov her talkèn,
Or bring vrom her veet the light doust,
  She do tread in the Spring.

O zun, meäke the gil'cups all glitter,
  In goold all around her;
An' meäke o' the deäisys' white flowers
  A bed in the Spring.

O whissle gäy birds, up bezide her,
  In drong-way, an' woodlands,
O zing, swingèn lark, now the clouds,
  Be a-vled in the Spring.

An' who, you mid ax, be my praïses
  A-meäken so much o',
An' oh! 'tis the maïd I'm a-hopèn
  To wed in the Spring.