The Dying Lover
The grass that is under me now
Will soon be over me, Sweet:
When you walk this way again,
I shall not hear your feet.
You may walk this way again
And shed your tears like dew:
They will be no more to me then
Than mine are now to you.
Will soon be over me, Sweet:
When you walk this way again,
I shall not hear your feet.
You may walk this way again
And shed your tears like dew:
They will be no more to me then
Than mine are now to you.
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