What body can be ploughed,
Sown, and broken yearly?
But she would not die, she vowed,
But she has, nearly.
 Sing, heart sing;
 Call and carol clearly.

And, since she could not die,
Care would be a feather,
A film over the eye
Of two that lie together.
 Fly, song, fly,
 Break your little tether.

So from strength concealed
She makes her pretty boast:
Plain is a furrow healed
And she may love you most.
 Cry, song, cry,
 And hear your crying lost.