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Poem by Anne Hunter


Song 16. MY mother bids me bind my hair


MY mother bids me bind my hair
With bands of rosy hue,
Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare,
And lace my bodice blue.
For why, she cries, sit still and weep,
While others dance and play?
Alas! I scarce can go or creep,
While Lubin is away.

'Tis sad to think the days are gone,
When those we love were near;
I sit upon this mossy stone,
And sigh when none can hear.
And while I spin my flaxen thread,
And sing my simple lay,
The village seems asleep, or dead,
Now Lubin is away.



Anne Hunter


Anne Hunter's other poems:
  1. To the Memory of a Lovely Infant, Written Seven Years after His Death
  2. To the Memory of Thomas Chatterton
  3. Addressed to Mrs. G.
  4. Song 12. Where the green ivy twining
  5. Laura


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