Song
W
Walter James Redfern Turner
0
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Gently, sorrowfully sang the maid
Sowing the ploughed field over,
And her song was only:
'Come, O my lover!'
Strangely, strangely shone the light,
Stilly wound the river:
'Thy love is a dead man,
He'll come back never.'
Sadly, sadly passed the maid
The fading dark hills over;
Still her song far, far away said:
'Come, O my lover!'
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