PLOUGH
The snows are come in early state,And love shall now go desolateIf we should keep too close a gate.Over the woods a splendour fallsOf death, and grey are the Gloucester walls,And grey the skies for burials.But secret in the falling snowI see the patient ploughman go,And watch the quiet furrows grow.
The snows are come in early state,And love shall now go desolateIf we should keep too close a gate.Over the woods a splendour fallsOf death, and grey are the Gloucester walls,And grey the skies for burials.But secret in the falling snowI see the patient ploughman go,And watch the quiet furrows grow.
The snows are come in early state,And love shall now go desolateIf we should keep too close a gate.
The snows are come in early state,
And love shall now go desolate
If we should keep too close a gate.
Over the woods a splendour fallsOf death, and grey are the Gloucester walls,And grey the skies for burials.
Over the woods a splendour falls
Of death, and grey are the Gloucester walls,
And grey the skies for burials.
But secret in the falling snowI see the patient ploughman go,And watch the quiet furrows grow.
But secret in the falling snow
I see the patient ploughman go,
And watch the quiet furrows grow.