There'S The Daisy, The Woodbine, And Crow-Flower So Golden; There'S The Wild Rose, The Eglantine, And May-Buds Unfolding; There Are Flowers For My Fairy, And Bowers For My Love: Wilt Thou Gang With Me, Mary, To The Banks Of Brooms-Grove? There'S The Thorn-Bush And The Ash-Tree To Shield Thee From The Heat, While The Brook To Refresh Thee Runs Close By Thy Feet; The Thrushes Are Chanting Clear, In The Pleasures Of Love; Thou'Rt The Only Thing Wanting Here 'Mid The Sweets Of Brooms-Grove. Then Come Ere A Minute'S Gone, Since The Long Summer'S Day Puts Her Wings Swift As Linnets' On For Hieing Away. Then Come With No Doubtings Near, To Fear A False Love; For There'S Nothing Without Thee Dear, Can Please In Brooms-Grove. The Woodbine May Nauntle Here, In Blossoms So Fine, The Wild Roses Mantling Near In Blushes May Shine; Mary Queen Of Each Blossom Proves, SHe's The Blossom I Love, SHe's The All That My Bosom Loves 'Mong The Sweets Of Brooms-Grove.