Come you, Mary
E. Farrar
Come you, Mary, there's a dear!
Mind no more the plaguy dairy!
Milk can never match your white -
Come you, Mary!
All the music of my scythe
Sang you in the heated meadow;
And I turned for you, when fell
Every shadow!
Down with pails, and bring those lips
(Rose leaves in the happy dairy)
To the chestnut where we kiss -
Come you, Mary!