The Time is Drawing Nigh
The time is drawing nigh when my love and I must part;
'Tis little she knows the griefs and woes that lie on my poor heart
And all I've suffered for her sake, ''tis she that I hold most dear,
I wish she'd come with her soldier boy or I to tarry here.
My love is neat,likewise complete, she is rare for to behold,
Her name is secret I will write it in letters made of gold,
Her name is secret I will write that the world may plainly see
How deeply I'm in love with her, though she won't pity me.
I'll build a tower to my love's bower, that there it may be seen
When she puts on her suit of silk, her garments red and green;
From head to foot and round about, oh she is all divine,
May heaven above protect my love and grant she may be mine.
Ah, how shall I behave myself when I take her by the hand,
To take my last farewell of her, that's more than I can stand,
Oh the bells will ring and the birds will sing with sounds of trumpets too,
No doubt my dear I'll shed a tear when I am parting you.
cf Joyce 1909, No. 423, P. 234