עממי The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree, Sing willow, willow, willow With his hand in his bosom, and his head upon his knee, O willow willow willow shall be my garland. Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow; Aye me the green willow must be my garland! He sighed to his singing, and made a great moan, Sing willow, willow, willow; I am dead to all pleasure, my true love, she is gone. O willow willow willow shall be my garland. Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow; Aye me the green willow must be my garland