A Summer Song

When as the rye reach to the chin,
And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within,
Strawberries swimming in the cream,
And school-boys playing in the stream;
Then O, then O, then O my true love said,
Till that time come again,
She could not live a maid. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

This entry was posted on Friday, September 22nd, 2017 at 10:26 am. Both comments and pings are currently closed.