An hour before the sun goes down Behind the ragged boughs, I go across the little run And bring the dusty cows; And once I used to sit and rest Beneath the fading dome, For there was one that I loved best Who'd bring the cattle home.
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Our yard is fixed with double bails, Round one the grass is green, The bush is growing through the rails, The spike is rusted in; And 'twas from there his freckled face Would turn and smile at me -- He'd milk a dozen in the race While I was milking three.
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The Drover's Sweetheart
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