| 歌詞 | (1)Would God I were the tender apple blosom
That floats and falls from off the twisted bough,
To lie and faint eithin your silken bosom
with in your silken bosom 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 will dapple,
your robe of lawn, and your hair's spungold
(2) Yea would to God I were among the roses
The lean to kiss you as you float between,
while on the lowest branch a bud uncloses,
A budin closes, 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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