# The Hawthorn Tree

Not much to me is yonder lane

Where I go every day;

But when there’s been a shower of rain

And hedge-birds whistle gay,

I know my lad that’s out in France

With fearsome things to see

Would give his eyes for just one glance

At our white hawthorn tree.

* * * * *

Not much to me is yonder lane

Where he so longs to tread;

But when there’s been a shower of rain

I think I’ll never weep again

Until I’ve heard he’s dead.

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