Classic Poem

Down in a meadow fresh and gay,
Picking lilies all the day;
Picking lilies both red and blue,
I little thought what love could do.

Where love is planted there it grows,
It buds and blossoms like any rose,
It has so sweet and a pleasant smell,
No flowers on earth can it excel.

There's thousands, thousands in a room,
My love she carries the brightest bloom;
Surely she is the chosen one,
I will have her and I will have none.

I saw a ship sailing on the sea,
Loaded as deep as she could be;
But not so deep as in love I am,
I care not whether I sink or swim.

I leant my back unto an oak,
Thinking it was some trusty tree;
But first it bowed and then it brake,
And so did my true love to me.

I put my hand into the bush
Thinking the sweetest rose to find,
I pricked my finger into the bone,
But left the sweetest rose behind.

If roses be such a prickly flower,
They ought to be gathered while they are green
And he that loves an unkind lover,
I am sure he striveth against the stream.

When my love and I is gone to rest,
I'll think on her whom I love best,
I'll wrap her in the linen strong,
And I'll think on her when she's dead and gone.