Tipo de gaita: Qualquer tipo
Tom: qualquer
LONDONDERRY AIR
TRADITIONAL
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Would God I were the tender apple blossom
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That floats and falls from off the twisted bough
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To lie and faint within your silken bosom
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Within your silken bosom as that does now.
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Or would I were a little burnish'd apple
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For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold
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While sun and shade you robe of lawn will dapple
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Your robe of lawn, and you hair's spun gold.
Yea, would to God I were among the roses
That lean to kiss you as you float between
While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses
A bud uncloses, to touch you, queen.
Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing
A happy daisy, in the garden path
That so your silver foot might press me going
Might press me going even unto death.
