🎶

Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us, but we can't strike them all by ourselves. We need the things that happen when your brain shuts off and your heart turns on, Love was such a torment l hid from her my face and scorned. and drove her from me in bitter, deep disgrace she fled my primrose garden her heart was wondering sore l heard her moan. in undertone: l will return no more!' but love her vow repented and came reluctant back; l think somebody led her along the primrose track; her face was at my lattice, her cheek was white and thin; she spoke in such a pleading way l could but let her in. Now love is such a comfort l would not have her go. For all shining treasures, that fortune can bestow. And since she sweet returning l bless with great full sense, The day she came the way she came. The hand that led her, hence.