| | LXIII | | C | |
| | | |
| I hoed and trenched and weeded, | | | Q |
| And took the flowers to fair: | | | |
| I brought them home unheeded; | | | |
| The hue was not the wear. | | | |
| | | | | |
| So up and down I sow them | 5 | | |
| For lads like me to find, | | | |
| When I shall lie below them, | | | Q |
| A dead man out of mind. | | | |
| | | | | |
| Some seed the birds devour, | | C | |
| And some the season mars, | 10 | | |
| But here and there will flower, | | | |
| The solitary stars, | | | Q |
| | | | | |
| And fields will yearly bear them | | | |
| As light-leaved spring comes on, | | | Q |
| And luckless lads will wear them | 15 | | Q |
| When I am dead and gone. | | | |
| | | | | |