| Proud Margret stood at her father’s doorway
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| As straight as willow wand
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| And by there came a gardener bold
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| With red rose in his hand, his hand
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| With red rose in his hand
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| You shall have my rose, fair maiden
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| If you give your flower to me
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| Among the flowers in your father’s garden
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| I’ll make a gown for thee, for thee
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| I’ll make a gown for thee
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| And it shall be of sweet smelling thyme
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| Your apron celandine
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| Your petticoat of the chamomile
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| Come kiss sweetheart and join, and join
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| Come kiss sweetheart and join
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| Your glove shall be of the clover flower
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| Your shoes of the rue so fine
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| I’ll line them with the cornflower blue
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| So join your love with mine, with mine
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| So join your love with mine
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| Since you have made a gown for me
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| Among the summer flowers
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| So I will make a suit for thee
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| Among the winter showers, the showers
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| Among the winter showers
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| The milk-white snow will be your shirt
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| That lies your body next
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| And the night-black rain will be your coat
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| With the wind gale at your breast, your breast
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| With the wind gale at your breast
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| The horse that you shall ride upon
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| Will be of the wintry grey
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| And every time that you pass by
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| I’ll wish you were away, away
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| I’ll wish you were away |