Youngling fair, and dear delight,
 'Tis love hath thee in keeping.
 Green are the hills in morning light
 A long adieu to weeping.

 The elfin folk sing shrill-a-ring,
 The children afield are straying;
 Dance, too, dance, thou tiny lovely thing,
 For all the world's a-maying.

 Droop will the shadows of the night,
 Quiet be thy sleeping.
 Thou youngling fair, and dear delight,
 'Tis love hath thee in keeping.