'Twas in the merry month of May when small birds they were singing
A young man on his death-bed lay for the sake of Barb'ra Allen.

He sent one of his servants down to the house where she was dwelling,
Saying: "You must come to my master's house if your name is Bar'ra Allen."

O slowly she put on her clothes and slowly she came to him,
And when she came to his bedside says she: "Young man, you're dying."

"I'm not a-dying now just yet: one kiss of thine will cure me";
"One kiss of mine you never shall have, so fare away, young Edwin."

As she was a-walking through the churchyard she heard the big bell tolling,
And every toll it seemed for to say: "Hard-hearted Barb'ra Allen".

"O come, dear mother, make my bed, o make it long and narrow:
My true love died for me yesterday; I'll die for him tomorrow."

Now he was buried in the tomb and the other in the quire,
And out of him there sprang a rose and there growed from her sweet brier.

They growed and growed till they reached the top and they could grow no higher,
And then they tied in a true lover's knot for all true lovers to admire.

- Traditional English ballad -- as such, CST Approved.

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