C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Songs and Their Settings: Desdemona’s Last Song

From ‘Othello’

DESDEMONA[singing]—
A poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,

Sing all a green willow;

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,—

Sing willow, willow, willow:

The fresh streams ran by her and murmured her moans;

Sing willow, willow, willow;

Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the stones.—

Lay by these.—

Sing willow, willow, willow.—

Pr’ythee, hie thee; he’ll come anon.—

Sing all a green willow must be my garland.

Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve,—

Nay, that’s not next.—Hark! who is it that knocks?

Emilia—It is the wind.

Desdemona—
I called my love false love; but what said he then?

Sing willow, willow, willow:

If I court no women, you’ll couch with no men.