Come to me my bonny boy,
And wear your coat of leather.
I'll be near the apple tree
Where last we were together.
Where last I kissed your bonny lips
In secret rendezvous.
Where last you laid me on the grass
In springtime's morning dew.
The apple tree has born it's fruit,
Yet we have not born ours.
So meet me on this chilly night
Beneath the sheath of stars.
Where I shall feed you pomegranate
And you shall break my trance.
Where Harvest Moon will illuminate
Our joyful lover's dance.