Can't we two go walking together,
Out beyond the valley of trees?
Out where there's a hillside of heather,
Curtsying gently in the breeze.
That's what I'd like to do:
See the heather--but with you.
The mist of May is in the gloaming,
And all the clouds are holding still.
So take my hand and let's go roaming
Through the heather on the hill.
The mornin' dew is blinking yonder.
There's lazy music in the rill,
And all I want to do is wander
Through the heather on the hill.
There may be other days as rich and rare.
There may be other springs as full and fair.
But they won't be the same--they'll come and go,
For this I know:
That when the mist is in the gloaming,
And all the clouds are holding still,
If you're not there I won't go roaming,
Through the heather on the hill,
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