The Hawthorn Tree

Not much to me is yonder lane
  Where I go every day;
But when there's been a shower of rain
  And hedge-birds whistle gay,
I know my lad that's out in France
  With fearsome things to see
Would give his eyes for just one glance
  At our white hawthorn tree.

Not much to me is yonder lane
  Where he so longs to tread;
But when there's been a shower of rain
I think I'll never weep again
  Until I've heard he's dead.