Edward Elgar — False Love

Now we hear the Spring's sweet voice Singing gladly through the world; Bidding all the earth rejoice All is merry in the field Flowers grow amidst the grass Blossoms blue, red, white they yield As I seek my maiden true Sings the little lark on high Fain to send her praises due As I climb and reach her door Ah! I see a rival there So farewell! for evermore Ever true was I to thee Never grieved or vexed thee, love False, oh! false, art thou of me Now amid the forest green Far from cruel eyes that mock Will I dwell unloved, unseen