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VERSES
THE LOWLAND PLOUGHMAN
The team is stabled up, my lass.
The dew lies thick and grey;
Beyond the world, the long green light
Clings to the edge of day.
By farm and fold the work is still.
Their breath the beanflowers yield.
And, in the dusk, the gowans stand
Like moons along the field.
A little ghost alone, my dear.
The night moth flitters by;
Beside the hedge I’m lonely too.
Although no ghost am I.
Leave the gudeman to mind the hearth,
The wife to mend the fire.
Nor heed the lads whose voices come
In mirth from yard and byre.
65 F

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