He ’d nothing but his violin, I ’d nothing but my song, But we were wed when skies were blue And summer days were long; And when we rested by the hedge, The robins came and told How they had dared to woo and win, When early Spring was cold. We sometimes supped on dew-berries, Or slept among the hay, But oft the farmers’ wives at eve Came out to hear us play; The rare old songs, the dear old tunes,— We could not starve for long While my man had his violin, And I my sweet love-song.
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