A maid sits by her cottage door,
The flowers are dead, the Spring hath gone;
There comes no knight the green wold o'er;
She sits and sings her song alone,
For love hath fled, and youth 's no more.
WEST.
A maid sits by her cottage door,
The flowers are dead, the Spring hath gone;
There comes no knight the green wold o'er;
She sits and sings her song alone,
For love hath fled, and youth 's no more.
WEST.