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There was one a-riding grand
As he rode from me.
And he raised his golden band
And he threw it in the sea.
There was one a-walking slow
To a sad, long sigh.
And his rose drooped low,
And he flung it down to die.
There was one with a swagger
And a little, sharp pride,
And a bright, cold dagger
Ever at his side.
At his side it stayed
When he ran to part.
What is this blade
Struck through my heart?
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