O, she was most precious, as the wind’s self was fair.

What did I give her when I had her on my knee?

Red kisses for her coral lips, and a red comb for her hair.

She took my gifts, she took my heart, and fled away from me.

O, but she was fanciful, she found a savage mate,

He scorned her, he spurned her, he drove her from his door;

She cuddled in his inglenook and laughed at all his hate,

She took his curses, took his blows, and never left him more.