Luyện nghe bài hát The Londonderry Air

Would God I were the tender apple
That and falls from off the twisted bough,
To lie and faint your silken bosom,
Within your bos'm as that does now!
Or would I were a little apple
For you to me, gliding by so cold,
While sun and shade your robe of lawn dapple,
Your robe of lawn, and your spun gold.

Yea, would to God I were the roses
That lean to kiss you as you between,
on the lowest branch a bud uncloses,
A bud uncloses, to you, queen.
Nay, since you will not love, I were growing,
A happy daisy, in the path;
That so silver foot might press me going,
Might press me going unto death.