Page:Flower of youth, poems in war time, Tynan, 1915.djvu/13

Rh The Lowlands of Flanders,

Their rivers run so red.

But I must say Good-bye, my dear,

My only dear, I said.

For now I must go sailing

Upon the stormy main;

Good-bye, good-bye, my only Love,

Till I shall come again.

I put her white arms from me,

Her cheek was cold as clay.

The night that I was married

No longer I might stay.

Our bugles they are blowing,

And I must sail the sea,

For the Lowlands of Flanders

Betwixt my love and me.