A Derry air (would God I were)

Would God I were the tender apple blossom
That floats and falls from off the twisted bough
To lie and faint within your silken bossom
Within your silken bossom as that does now
Or would I were a little burnish'd apple
For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold
While sun and shade your robe of lawn with dapple
Your robe of lawn and your hair's spun gold

Yes, would to God I were among the roses
That lean to kiss you as you float between
While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses
A bud uncloses to touch you Queen
Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing
A happy daisy in the garden path
That so your silver foot might press me going
Might press me going even unto death

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