| As I went a-walkin' on a fine summer’s mornin'
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| The birds on the bushes did whistle and sing
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| The lads and the lassies in couples were sportin'
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| Then back to the factory, their work to begin
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| I saw one amongst them, she was fairer than any
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| Her cheeks like the roses that bloom in the spring
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| Her skin like the lily that grows in yon' valley
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| She was only a hard workin' factory girl
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| I stepped up to her
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| More closely to view her
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| When on me she cast a look of disdain
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| Saying, «Young man, stand off me
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| And do not come near me
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| I work for my living and think it no shame»
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| The next morning I was there ready and waiting
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| And begged her to talk to me just for a spell
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| And each morning after she lingered still longer
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| And then hurried away at the sound of the bell
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| Then came the morning when silence did greet me
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| The birds on the bushes were stricken and still
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| So I stepped on the path where she often did meet me
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| And I walked to the factory up on the hill
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| The crowd gathered around, couldn’t hide the destruction
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| I cast my eyes on it in such disbelief
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| A truth of the world settled into the ashes
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| The rich man’s neglect is the poor man’s grief
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| As I stood there, a whisper, it did caress me
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| A faint scent of roses my senses begun
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| I lifted my face and I saw that above me
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| A thousand young butterflies darkened the sun |