| She’s like the swallow that flies so high
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| She’s like the river that never runs dry
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| She’s like the sunshine on the lee shore
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| I love my love and love is no more
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| 'Twas down in the meadow this fair maid bent
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| A-picking the primrose just as she went
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| The more she picked and the more she pulled
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| Until she gathered her apron full
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| She climbed on yonder hill above
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| To give a rose unto her love
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| She gave him one, she gave him three
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| She gave her heart for company
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| And as they sat on yonder hill
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| His heart grew hard, so harder still
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| He has two hearts instead of one
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| She says, «Young man, what have you done?»
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| «How foolish, foolish you must be
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| To think I love no one but thee
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| The world’s not made for one alone
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| I take delight in everyone.»
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| She took her roses and made a bed
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| A stony pillow for her head
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| She lay her down, no more did say
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| But let her roses fade away
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| She’s like the swallow that flies so high
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| She’s like the river that never runs dry
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| She’s like the sunshine on the lee shore
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| She loves her love but she’ll love no more |