For works with similar titles, see Song.
SONG
My merry maid in the maple shade,
With the fresh, green leaves above you,
With your child-like face and your artless grace,
Oh, who could help but love you!
With the fresh, green leaves above you,
With your child-like face and your artless grace,
Oh, who could help but love you!
And I would not break for your own sweet sake,
Your dreams, all their fairies routing,
And idly change, with a truth so strange,
Your young heart's faith to doubting.
Your dreams, all their fairies routing,
And idly change, with a truth so strange,
Your young heart's faith to doubting.