A Partridge In a Pear Tree

There was a dove in the apple tree,
with a low, low, my love, my love,
among the green boughs, sweet to see,
and sweet he sang upon the ear,
but Eve and Adam could not hear,
with a low.

For Adam ate as Eve had bid,
with a low, low, my love, my love,
and from the Father then they hid.
For Eve had eaten at a word—
not dove but serpent she had heard,
with a low.

And now the dove weeps all the day
with a low, low, my love, my love,
for all Eve’s children, welaway!
The tears he weeps, they fall as rain
for bitter sorrow, bitter pain,
with a low.

But he will cast his feathers down
with a low, low, my love, my love,
and weave himself a briar crown,
will lose his song and still his flight
and fall to earth in dead of night,
with a low.

Then helpless as a child and weak
with a low, low, my love, my love,
to one bright maiden shall he speak,
and she, Eve’s daughter, she will hear
and let the poor, plucked dove draw near,
with a low.

She’ll shelter him beneath her breast
with a low, low, my love, my love,
and for her kindness we’ll be blest.
Soon Eve and Adam, they will see
the sweetest fruit of the apple tree,
with a low.

Title page from the first known publication of “The 12 days of Christmas” – Anonymous (1780). Mirth without Mischief. London: Printed by J. Davenport, George’s Court, for C. Sheppard, no. 8, Aylesbury Street, Clerkenwell. pp. 5–16., Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30411330