Sweet William did a-hunting go,
In the wood where faeries dwell.
From dawn to dusk roamed he to and fro,
Lost, O lost, all under their spell.
Came he, at last, to where bluebells grow.
He heard them ring, ‘tis true to tell.
He lay him down and did not know
The flower’s sound was his own death knell.
And while he slept came the lady fair,
And gathered him up behind her saddle.
Now, all young hunters of bluebells beware
Sweet William rode straight through the
Gate of Hell.