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Down by the river where the old willows bow |
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Marked by time, their branches hanging low |
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There where the aspens stand and hide |
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Witness stories, day and night |
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Along these trees, a river runs |
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Its water cobalt blue |
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It accompanies the road through the fields of rye |
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Leading to a castle all folks knew |
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Camelot |
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On an island in the river, covered with flowers |
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Dwells a lady, wrapped in secrecy |
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Between tower walls that embower |
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Her being, being a mystery |
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Sniffing, in tears; a flower |
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While standing in the casement |
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Fairy lady in the tower |
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Who has seen her wave her hand? |
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Who has seen her wave her hand? |
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At the fields the reapers listen |
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And whisper: "that's the lady in the tower" |
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A voice like an angels harmonic echoing |
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They go numb, as her voice grows louder |
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And when the shallop drifts at night |
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Down to many towered Camelot |
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Floating along, where roses grow wild |
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Where the lady royally apparelled |
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With a pearl garland around her head |
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Serene she sleeps in the tower on her velvet bed |