| And rode a mare of purest white
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| A silver chalice in her hand
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| A look of sadness in her eyes
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| A thing of beauty to behold
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| But a sorrow to possess
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| She’ll take all that you offer
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| Until there’s nothing left
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| Nothing left
|
| Face hidden in shadow
|
| Beneath a hood of quills
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| The pinions of her raiment
|
| Conceal all her ills
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| Beneath her cloak of feathers
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| Lies a body soft and fine
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| Eyes of hazel green
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| Flowing hair as dark as wine
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| A thing of beauty to remember
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| But a sorrow to forget
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| She took all that I gave her
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| Till there was nothing left
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| Nothing left
|
| Of owl and of raven
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| Of peacock and dove
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| Of swan and of sparrow
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| Woven with her love
|
| Face hidden in shadow
|
| Beneath a hood of quills
|
| The pinions of her raiment
|
| Conceal all her ills |