This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1874 Excerpt: ...the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. Last May we made a crown of flowers; we had a merry day; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May: And we danced about the May-pole and in the hazel copse, Till Charles's wain came out above the tall white chimney tops. There's not a flower on all the hills: - ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1874 Excerpt: ...the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree. Last May we made a crown of flowers; we had a merry day; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May: And we danced about the May-pole and in the hazel copse, Till Charles's wain came out above the tall white chimney tops. There's not a flower on all the hills: --the frost is on the pane: --I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high: --I long to see a flower so before the day I die. The building rook 'll caw from the windy tall elm tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea; And the swallow 'll come again with summer o'er the wave, --But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave. Upon the chancel casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early, --early morning the summer sun 'll shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm asleep, mother, and all the world is still. When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light, You'll never see me more in the long grey fields at night; When from the dry, dark wold, the summer airs blow cool On the oat-grass, and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.--I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. I have been wild and wayward, --but you'll forgive me now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow--Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild; You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. If I can, --I'll come again, mother, from out my restingplace; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look u...
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