YOUNG MAIDS MUST MAERF. There sits a bird on every tree, With heigh-ho; There sits bird every tree, Sings to
... dew; The morning mist and evening Unlike the cold, grey rime, Seem'd woven waves of golden air When I was in my prime. And blackberries, so mawkish now, Were finely flavour'd then, And hazel nuts with clusters thick I ne'er shall pluck again. Nor strawb'ries ...