One morning in the month of June,|
As from my cot I strayed,
|: Just at the dawning of the day
I met with a charming maid. :|
Good morning to you, wither? said I,
No longer weep, no longer mourn.
I must confess, you're very kind.|
I thank you Sir, said she.
|: We will be sure her there to find.
Come sweetheart and go with me. :|
And in the grove they spent the day.
If he should cross the flowery dale
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