Swanage Bay
The years have gone over the hill
And they have not rubbed it low.
By the days gone under it still
It’s never made to grow.
I knew a man who
loved his wife
When the days went over the hill.
A little boy had a little knife
And the hills are standing still.
You saw me when the
may was white
Standing by the river.
You held me when the moon was white
And said it was for ever.
The hawthorn drops
its berries in the brook
And there they never grow.
The water saw itself, and forsook
The stones that lie below.
All the rivers go
out to sea
And the tide still comes in salty.
The clouds of years have come from the west
And the stream runs sweetly.
John Gibbens, from Ballads, One
Go
to the Trading Post to buy Ballads, One
