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THE GARDENER'S SON

When I was a maiden fair and young,
I flourished in my prime, prime,
Till a proper tall young man came in
And stole this heart of mine, mine,
And stole this heart of mine.

The gardener's son was standing by
Three gifts he gave to me, me :
The pink, the rue the violet blue
And the red, red rosy tree,
The red, red rosy tree.

The violet I did not like
Because it bloomed so soon, soon
The rue and the pink I really overthink
So I vowed I would wait till June, June,
So I vowed I would wait till June .

In June there was a red rose-bud,
And that's the flower for me, me,
I oftentimes have plucked the red rose bud
Till I gained the willow tree, tree,
Till I gained the willow tree.

The willow-tree will twist,
And the willow-tree will twine, twine
I wish I was in that young man's arms
That once had this heart of mine, mine,
That once had this heart of mine.

Come all you maids, where'er you be,
That flourish in your prime, prime,
Be wise, beware, keep free from care,
Let no man steal your thyme, thyme,
Let no man steal Your thyme.

A common enough song but a particularly lovely variant.