A Shepherdess sits on the hill
Her sheep run where they will
Her lover's gone, away from here
And left her with her tears.
He played the harp so sweetly
throughout an autumn day.
He won her heart, spoke not a word;
The harp spoke in his stead.
She kept him at both bed and board
'gainst winter's cold sharp sword.
He said he'd stay all through the snow,
But with the thaw he'd go.
And with the spring he went his way,
Across green hills of hay.
She heard him go, across the moor,
Till the harp, she heard no more.
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