A Shropshire Lad
and recovers
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A Shropshire Lad
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It nods and curtseys and recovers When the wind blows above, The nettle on the graves of lovers That hanged themselves for love. The nettle nods, the wind blows over, The man, he does not move, The lover of the grave, the lover That hanged himself for love. |
 Look not in my eyes, for fear |
 Twice a week the winter thorough |