the winter it is past

the winter it is past, and the suer cos atst

and the sll birds, they sing on ev'ry tree;

now ev'ry thing is d, while i avery sad,

since true love is parted fro.

the rose upon the breer, by the waters running clear,

y have char for the li or the bee;

their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,

but true love is parted fro.