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 * There grew a little flower
 * 'Neath a great oak tree:
 * When the tempest 'gan to lower
 * Little heeded she:
 * No need had she to cower,
 * For she dreaded not its power—
 * She was happy in the bower
 * Of her great oak tree!
 * Sing hey,
 * Lackaday!
 * Let the tears fall free

For the pretty little flower and the great oak tree!


 * Sing hey,
 * Lackaday! etc.


 * When she found that he was fickle,
 * Was that great oak tree,
 * She was in a pretty pickle,
 * As she well might be—
 * But his gallantries were mickle,
 * For Death followed with his sickle,
 * And her tears began to trickle
 * For her great oak tree!
 * Sing hey,
 * Lackaday! etc.


 * Said she, "He loved me never,
 * Did that great oak tree,
 * But I'm neither rich nor clever,
 * And so why should he?
 * But though fate our fortunes sever,
 * To be constant I'll endeavour,
 * Aye, for ever and for ever,
 * To my great oak tree!"
 * Sing hey,
 * Lackaday! etc.