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The Water Is Wide
O Waly Waly

The water is wide I can not cross over
And neither have I wings to fly
Build me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row my love and I

A ship there is and she sails the sea
Sailing as deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I am in
I know not how (if) I sink or swim

I leaned my back against some young oak
Thinking that he was a trusty tree
But first he bent and then he broke
And thus did my false love and me

Our love is handsome, our love is kind
Shines like a jewel when first it's new
but love grows cold and love grows old
and fades away like morning dew

Our love is gentle our love is kind
Shines like a jewel when first it's new
but love grows old and waxes cold
and fades away like morning dew

"Roger McGuinn"  1973
 
other versions:


The water is wide
I can not get o’er
And neither have I wings to fly
Oh go and get me some little boat
And both shall row, my love and I

Where love is planted, O, there it grows
It buds and blossoms, like some rose
It has a sweet and pleasant smell
No flower on earth, can it excel.

There is a ship sailing on the sea
It’s loaded deep, as deep can be
But not as deep, as in love I am
I know not if I sink or if I swim.

The water is wide
I can not get o’er
And neither have I wings to fly
Oh go and get me some little boat
And both shall row, my love and I


O Waly, waly, up the bank,
And waly, waly, doun the brae,
And waly, waly, yon burn-side,
Where I and my love want to go!
I lean'd my back into an aik,
I thocht it was a trustie tree;
But first it bow'd and syne it brak
Sae my true love did lichtlie me.

O waly, waly, gin love be bonnie
A little time while it is new!
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld,
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook,
And says he'll never lo'e me mair.

Now Arthur's Seat Sall be my bed,
The sheets sall ne'er be 'filed by me;
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink;
Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearìe.

Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie,
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry;
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we cam in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely sicht to see;
My Love was clad in the black velvèt,
And I mysel in cramasie.


But had I wist , before I kissed,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I had lock'd my heart in a case o' gowd,
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.
And O! if my young babe were born,:
And set upon the nurse's knee;
And I mysel were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!