Classic Poem

A lass am I, and I wait my day;
To some 't will be nay, but to one 't will be yea;
When the time comes, I shall know what to say.
The winter goes, and the warm wind blows,
And who shall keep the color from the red, red rose?

The blossom blue and the blossom pink,
The bee may love both, but I know what I think:
One he loves best, and there will he drink.
There is bloom for the bee, there is dew for the grass,
And the cup is not empty for a country lass.

A lass am I, neither high nor low;
My heart is mine now, but I 'd have the world know,
When the wind 's right, away it will go.
The brook sings below, and the bird sings above,
And sweeter in between sings the lover to his love.