Long evenings full of longing Low-spirited my mornings Full of longing too my nights And all the time the bitterest. `Tis my lovely I long for It is my darling I miss My black-browed one I grieve for. There`s no hearing my treasure No seeing my marten-breast No hearing her in the lane Driving below the window Chopping the wood by the stack Clinking outside the cook-house: In the earth my berry lies In the soil she`s mouldering Under the sand my sweet one Beneath the grass my trasure The one I grieve for.
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