Tekst Utworu
The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree
Sing all a green willow
With his hand in his bosom and his head upon his knee
O willow, willow, willow shall be my garland
Sing all a green willow, willow willow willow
Aye me, the green willow must be my garland
He sigh'd in his singing, and made a great moan
Sing willow, willow, willow
I am dead to all pleasures
My true love she is gone
The mute bird sat by him was made tame by his moans
Sing willow, willow willow
The true tears fell from him would have melted the stones
O willow, willow, willow shall be my garland
Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow
Aye me the green willow must be my garland
Take this for my farewell
And latest adieu
Write this on my tomb: that in love I was true
Written by: Christian Friedel, William Shakespeare
