My evening song

I thought to catch a little turtle dove

And hide it in my breast,

But it flapped its wings and it flew away

Back to its true-love’s nest.

The seasons change, a cold wind blows,

The leaves turn gold to brown;

I seek for flowers beneath the snow,

To pick where they be found.

All the young lassies wear flowers in their hair,

And they’re singing the song Never Love an Old Man.

The fire may be low, but still there’s a glow

And it bursts into flame whenever it can.

Still I can climb the apple tree

To bite the sharpest fruit,

And dig into the new-turned ground

To pluck the deepest root.

Of all the seven ages

This may be my last,

Yet each day dawns as bright and new

As mornings in the past.

Chorus:

All the young lassies . . .

Eat, drink, find joy wherever you may,

Whenever it comes to your hand.

A bed without company’s cold as the grave,

Like sowing in unploughed land.

Young lassies, take care, lest you miss the sweet taste

Of a love that’s a vintage, matured;

Young men go to sleep, they soon reach their peak,

With an old man your joy is assured.

Chorus:

All the young lassies . . .

The lassies pass and the mem’ry fades

Like flowers in the morning dew;

A tree that raises its arms to the sky

Is the shape of a love that’s true.

These girls and boys are but fleeting joys,

They’re here and then they’re gone.

But the woman I love has a constancy

And she’s my autumn song.

All the young lassies wear flowers in their hair,

And they’re singing the song Never Love an Old Man.

The fire may be low, but still there’s a glow

And it bursts into flame whenever it can.