Where will we be?

The dandelion seeds have all blown, my Love,
In the meadow down by the marsh,
And another year has all flown, my Love,
In the meadow down by the marsh.

Oh, where will we be when the bare hawthorn tree
Next fills with white may,
Next fills with white may?

The seasons of seeding are shorter each year,
The blossoms less long on the bough,
The days of our Springtime were longer by far.
The Summers more golden than now.

Oh, where will we be when the bare hawthorn tree
Next fills with white may,
Next fills with white may?