Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/159

 Her gold hair fell in the gay reeds green, One with another: Lord God, bring me out of teen! (Mother, my mother.)

O mother, where is my lady gone? (One with another.) In the bride-chamber she makes sore moan: (Mother, my mother.)

Her hair falls over the velvet and vair, (One with another) Her great soft tears fall over her hair. (Mother, my mother.)

When he came into the bride's chamber, (One with another) Her hands were like pale yellow amber. (Mother, my mother.)