In the seasons o' swallows that brings the bright sun

In the seasons o' swallows that brings the bright sun
And never comes nigh 'till the lammies a' run
Ever skimming and crossing the gravel paved brook
While the children bright daisies and buttercups look.


I courted a maid without satin or silk
That went all the week — night and morning to milk
And sat on the rest harrow by the mole hill
Where I first fell in love — and I see her sit still.


The sun was a setting — the cowpasture pond
Curved i' wrinkles o' gold and o' silver beyond
The molehills where covered in patches o' thyme
And the season for courting was just in its prime.


Her face it was lovely and so was her clothes
A hue the same colour on the sweet briar grows
Her neck and her shoulders was whiter than milk
And her lips were so soft — yes much softer than silk


Her words fell like music from those pretty lips
And her eyes — as the fly in the water pond dips
Owned two sparks of light that made the sun dim
While the dragon-fly darted about the pond brim.


On the pasture I courted her both even and morn
Till the rest harrow podded and ripe was the corn
Yes I've loved her there by the side of that hill
And they tell me she blooms and is lovelier still.
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