Melody - Traditional Irish
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Come all you maidens young and fair All you that are blooming in your prime And always beware To keep your garden fair Let no man steal away your thyme. For thyme it is a precious thing And thyme brings all things to my mind Thyme with all its labours, Along with all its joys Thyme brings all things to an end |
Once I had a bunch of thyme I thought it never would decay Then came a lusty sailor, Who chanced to pass my way And stole my bunch of thyme away. For thyme it is a precious thing . . . . The sailor gave to me a rose A rose that never would decay He gave it to me, To keep me reminded Of when he stole my thyme away For thyme it is a precious thing . . . . |
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Thyme stands for hope and/or virginity. |
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