Oh, take me to your arms, my love,
⁠For keen the wind doth blow;
O take me to your arms, my love,
⁠For bitter is my woe.
She hears me not, she cares not,
⁠Nor will she list to me;
And here I lie, in misery,
⁠Beneath the willow tree.

My love has wealth and beauty,
⁠The rich attend her door;
My love has wealth and beauty,
⁠But I, alas! am poor.
The ribbon fair that bound her hair
⁠Is all that's left to me;
And here I lie, in misery,
⁠Beneath the willow tree.

I once had gold and silver,
⁠I thought them without end;
I once had gold and silver,
⁠I thought I had a friend;
My wealth is lost, my friend is false,
⁠My love is stole from me;
And here I lie, in misery,
⁠Beneath the willow tree.