The Kitchenmaid’s Aria


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“My poor sick mother lives down by the seashore, My poor sick mother in a cottage all alone When I travel to see here I travel through the green wood, I travel through the green wood. Sometimes I may hear it, sometimes I hear the nightingale, her song is indeed lovely it brings tears to my eyes. It is as if my mother had kissed me, had kissed me. I cannot forget that song that song surely the nightingale is the most beautiful in the world.”