Thanks for the heads-up Maeve, here's what I transcribed: The weaver's first daughter was born in the Spring But the low moon lay sleeping and the birds would not sing She died on the eve of her very first day But no tear would he shed as he laid her away But he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early And he sat by his loom in the gloom of the night The weaver's next daughter was born with the sun At the dawning of Summer when a new day had begun She died of the pox in her very first year As he laid her away he would shed not a tear But he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early And he walked in the rain with the cane of a willow The weaver's third daughter was born with the Fall When the leaves on the trees whispered soft on the wall She was found in the river with her hand on the shore She was three years of age but he cried not once more And he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early And he stood by the sea lost with dreams in his head The weaver's fourth daughter was born with the snow On a cold Winters eve but he let his heart go But she left in the Spring of her Seventeenth year With a gypsy from Spain with a ring in his ear And he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early But no tear would he shed as he read from his book…. And he grieved oh so dearly to lose her so early But no tear would he shed as he read from his book By the fire
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