The March wind rises through the skies, His great wings rustling as he flies, And downward sweeps o'er plain and hill ... Read full text
But on my lute I strive in vain To play the music o'er again, And you, dear love, will never know The little songs which come and go.
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1/19/2026 2:37:27 PM # 1.0.0
But on my lute I strive in vain To play the music o'er again, And you, dear love, will never know The little songs which come and go.