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Morning.
One morning in the meadow,
in the May of the year
Sat a maiden with her fellow,
and their love was so dear.
They sang such a song,
Such a wonderful tune.
That it rang and it chimmed,
as it fell on my ear.
But there came a september,
and a morning of day,
in the meadow sat the maiden,
with tears on the way.
Once laughing, once dancing,
Once singing, Once gay.
And once in the meadow,
in the morning of may.
