Classic Poem

I wish, I wish, but it's all in vain,
I wish I were a maid again,
A maid again I never will be
Till apple grows on orange tree.

I wish my baby it was born
And smiling on its papa's knee,
And I to be in yon churchyard
With long green grass growing over me.

When my apron strings hung low
He followed me through frost and snow,
But now my apron's to my chin
He passes by and says nothing.

Oh grief, oh grief, I'll tell you why,
That girl has more gold than I,
More gold than I and beauty, fame,
But she will come like me again.