Little Poppy

I go down to my garden,
to gather rosemary.

Refrain:
Oh little poppy, young girls,
Oh new, little poppy.

To gather my rosemary
I'd not yet gathered three strands,
when a nightingale landed on my hand.
To me in latin he did sing,
that men were not worth a thing,
and boys even much, much less,
of ladies he said not a word,
but of young girls just so much good.