Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove⁠—

But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love.

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, ’Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie.

Wamba