The Quiet Mists of Morning The elder lass walked out alone In the quiet mists of morning. The fields were black as the blackest stone and the springtime was a coming She dipped her hand into a stream In the quiet mists of morning. To look on how the elders leaned And the springtime were a coming She met a gently smiling man In the quiet mists of morning. He took her softly by the hand and the springtime were a flowering They lay them down in the birchwood glade In the quiet mists of morning. She were going to be no more a maid and the summertime were a coming He took her up and held her there In the quiet mists of morning. She were a bird he were a star And the summer were a blazing And when she thought to look at him In the quiet mists of morning. She held an oak tree in her hand And the winter snows were falling AS
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!