| As I came down by the weary well
|
| Going there to fill my can
|
| My fortune there I do declare
|
| She took me by the hand
|
| The lark gives tongue when summer comes
|
| Though time cracks every song
|
| As if newborn and as forlorn
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| Twas me that loved her long
|
| The willow tree, the willow tree
|
| That Christ cleft for his flocks
|
| I saw the candles burn in the church
|
| And the door of the many locks
|
| The ocean roared against the shore
|
| In the dark before the day
|
| I pulled my coat up round my throat
|
| And I turned my face away
|
| My curses on the carpenter
|
| Who built the doors so strong
|
| That she and me might parted be
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| And parted be for long
|
| Before I’m old with wandering
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| By the high roads and the low
|
| I’ll steal his hammer and his nails
|
| Till he can build no more
|
| I wish that I were in her bed
|
| Where I have been before
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| Her arms entwined around my neck
|
| And her fine breasts rising so
|
| I wish her door was bolted fast
|
| With two locks and a chain
|
| And she and I inside to lie
|
| Safe from the wind and rain
|
| Sun and fire and candlelight
|
| To all the world belong
|
| But the moon pale and the midnight
|
| Let these delight the strong
|
| Where wild geese fly across the sky
|
| Her voice is like the air
|
| And the midnight dark is in her eyes
|
| And the night is on her hair |