The fair maid who, the first of May,
Goes to the fields at break of day,
And washes in dew from the hawthorn-tree,
Will ever after handsome be.
Goes to the fields at break of day,
And washes in dew from the hawthorn-tree,
Will ever after handsome be.
Where oh where has my basket gone?
Oh where oh where can it be?
My hand on my head,
What have I here?
Found my basket, found my basket
Found my basket just now.
Just now I found my basket
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