Take the robes from off thy form,
And cease thine
At Fyvie's gate there grows a flower
It grows both broad
As I roved out one fine May morning,
To view the
There was a boy, a bitter boy,
Whose golden heart I
Oh the rain it rains all day long,
Bold Riley-o, Bold
Bring me a boat to cross to my dear
I stand
There was a farm on yonder hill, up where the
Daughter of heaven Oh, daughter of now
Drifting away and don't
One dark and stormy winters night
The snow lay on the
High on a hill there's a sweet bird calling,
All come
I courted a sailor for six months and many,
I courted
I wonder what is keeping my true love this night
I
It was early one morning at the break of the
Here is a tale of the trees in a wood
They
I must away love, no longer tarry,
This roaring tempest I
» More on Kate Rusby