She's like the swallow that flies so high.
She's like the river that never runs dry.
She's like the sunshine on the lee shore.
She loves her love but she'll love no more.
Twas down in the meadow this fair maid did go.
A-picking the beautiful primrose.
The more she plucked the more she pulled
until she's got her apron full.
There is a fellow on yonder hill.
His heart has grown hard, as hard as steel.
He has two hearts instead of one.
She says young man, what have you done?
For when I carried my apron low,
you followed me through frost and snow.
But now my apron is to my chin,
you pass me by and you won't call in.
So she's taken her flowers and made a bed,
a stony pillow for her head.
She's laid herself down, no word did she say.
Just let her roses fade away.