| Oh, I sowed the seeds of love
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| I sowed them all in the spring
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| I sowed them all on one May morning
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| While the small birds they did sing
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| Oh, the gardener was standing by
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| And I asked him to choose for me
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| He chose me the violet the lily and the pink
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| Those flowers I refused all three
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| For love it is tender and love it is true
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| And love is a pleasure when first it is new
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| But when it grows old, then love grows cold
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| And fades like morning dew
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| Oh, the violet I did not like
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| Because it would fade too soon
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| The lily and the pink I did really overthink
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| And I vowed I’d stay 'til June
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| For in June there grows a red rose bud
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| And that is the flower for me
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| I oft times had plucked that red rose bud
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| 'Til I gained the willow tree
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| For love it is tender and love it is true
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| And love is a pleasure when first it is new
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| But when it grows old, then love grows cold
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| And fades like morning dew
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| Oh, the willow tree it will twist
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| And the willow tree it will twine
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| And so will that false and deluded young girl
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| Who once stole this heart of mine
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| Who once stole this heart of mine
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| Oh, who once stole this heart of mine
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| For love it is tender and love it is true
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| And love is a pleasure when first it is new
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| But when it grows old, then love grows cold
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| And fades like morning dew |