Under a bough by the edge of a glen
a blanket of leaves were spread,
His chest became her pillow,
The earth became their bed;
They laid in twinkling shadow,
Their eyes bathed with leaves and sky,
'What e'er shall you do, my Darling, '
she said,
'when next year at this time I've died? '

'I'll pluck from the earth a red rose,
My face will be turned in a frown,
I'll whisper your name o'er and o'er,
And stormingly tears will flow down.'