She's like the swallow

Newfoundland

She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry,
She's like the sun beaming on the lee shore,
I love my love but love is no more.

A maiden into her garden did go,
For to pluck of the wild primrose,
The more she plucked the more she did pull,
Until this maiden’s apron was full.

Then out of these roses she made a bed,
A scarlet pillow for her head,
She laid her down, no words she did speak,
And then this maiden’s heart it did break.