MY lady of the golden heart, she comes each day
Down by the lodge-gate that I keep; she comes demurely,
And her two hounds sedate do follow and obey
Her slightest wish, and they do love my lady surely.
She comes each day, my lady of the golden heart,
Sometimes a-riding or sometimes she comes a-walking;
The birds along the hedge they do not even start
When she comes by, sometimes to her big hounds a-talking.
“Good morrow” says my lady, (she whose heart is gold),
And gold out of her heart makes bright the gateway;
The sunshine of her face in winter time does hold
Green meadows and sweet flowers and makes a summer straightway.
My lady, she whose heart is gold, my lady goes
Each day into the village, bread and good wine bearing
To those that sick be, and my gentle lady knows
All of the village folk and for them she be caring.