Proud Margaret stood in her father's doorway Straight as a willow wand And by there came a gardener bold With a red rose in his hand, his hand, A red rose in his hand
Oh you shall have my rose, fair maid, If you'll give your flower to me And among the flowers in your father's garden I'll make a gown for thee, for thee…
Your gown shall be sweet smelling thyme And your apron celandine Your petticoat of the chamomile Come kiss, sweetheart, and join
Your gloves shall be of the clover flower And your shoes of rue so fine I'll line them with the cornflower blue Come join your love with mine
Since you have made a gown for me Among the summer flowers So I shall make a suit for thee Among the winter showers
The milk white snow will be your shirt That lies your body next And the night black rain will be your coat With the wind all at your breast
Your boots will be of the bramble briar That nothing can betide The water wan will be your steed Light on, young man, and ride
The hat you wear upon your brow It will be of the weather gray And every time that you pass by I'll wish you were away Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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