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My Sweet Elaine ©

Gordon Fjaelberg
Bridgend, Wales

Should you pass a maiden
With fair golden tresses,
Pray give her my greeting
And speak to her well.
For though she be laden
With coarsest of dresses
I wish I were meeting
Elaine by the dell.

Can I but be mournful
And show aught but sorrow,
For oft we had sported
In childhood, long gone.
So, lest she be scornful
Then I, on the morrow,
Where once we cavorted
Shall sing her my song.

The cuckoos and thrushes
Would take up the chorus,
With hands held together
The world will be new.
Then we'd make our wishes
With all time before us,
Unheeding of whether
Such wishes come true.

For joy came the morning;
Elaine, unescorted!
My heart was enraptured
To see her again.
She came not for scorning
So duly we courted,
Eternally captured
By my sweet Elaine.

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