When thou to my true-love com'st
Greet her from me kindly;
When she asks thee how I fare?
Say, folks in Heaven fare finely.
When she asks,‘ What! Is he sick?’
Say, dead!— and when for sorrow
She begins to sob and cry,
Say, I come to-morrow.
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WESTPHALIAN SONG · Samuel Taylor Coleridge · Poetry Cove