IT is the miller's daughter,   And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel   That trembles in her ear: For hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle   About her dainty dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me,   In sorrow and in rest: And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,   And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom,   With her laughter or her sighs: And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.