If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day, O, what a day to-day would be! But now he's away, miles and miles away From me across the sea.
O little bird, flying, flying, flying To your nest in the warm west, Tell him as you pass that I am dying, As you pass home to your nest.
I have a sister, I have a brother, A faithful hound, a tame white dove; But I had another, once I had another, And I miss him, my love, my love!
In this weary world it is so cold, so cold, While I sit here all alone; I would not like to wait and to grow old, But just to be dead and gone.
Make me fair when I lie dead on my bed, Fair where I am lying: Perhaps he may come and look upon me dead— He for whom I am dying.
Dig my grave for two, with a stone to show it, And on the stone write my name; If he never comes, I shall never know it, But sleep on all the same.