Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come,For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair,And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast....