Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/149

 Too long have your tears dripped down like dew, One with another. For a knight that my sire and my brethren slew, Mother, my mother.

Let past things perish and dead griefs lie, One with another. O fain would I weep not, and fain would I die, Mother, my mother.

Fair gifts we give ye, to laugh and live, One with another. But sair and strange are the gifts I give, Mother, my mother.

And what will ye give for your father's love? One with another. Fruits full few and thorns enough, Mother, my mother.