Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/153

 And what shall ye pu' where the well rins deep? One with another. Green herb of death, fine flower of sleep, Mother, my mother.

Are there ony fishes that swim therein? One with another. The white fish grace, and the red fish sin, Mother, my mother.

Are there ony birds that sing thereby? One with another. O when they come thither they sing till they die, Mother, my mother.

Is there ony draw-bucket to that well-head? One with another. There's a wee well-bucket hangs low by a thread, Mother, my mother.