This was written by Bayard Rustin, the civil rights activist. I first heard this song in the early 1960's at a coffeehouse in Washington, DC. It was sung by a group of blind musicians. It's haunting, mysterious, and has been a favorite of mine since that time. I taught it to Ann shortly after I learned it and was delighted that, 28 years later, she urged us to revive it. You can hear another rendition on Harry Tuft's Across the Blue Mountains (Folk-Legacy FSl-63). [ET] · Ed taught this to me in 1962, nearly thirty years ago. I've loved its sadness. Often it has reminded me to say what I've felt to those I care about. A few weeks before this recording, I learned that a very dear childhood friend had died. I hadn't spoken with her in two years and her last letter to me was still waiting to be answered. I found I was singing this to her. [AMM] Ann: harp; Ed: hammered dulcimer; Gordon: 'cellamba.
I saw her as she came and went;
I saw her gueenly, meek and mild,
As innocent as any child,
A flower among her flowers,
Among her flowers content.
I come again and in her place
A silence and a vacant room,
And in my heart a sudden gloom
That I no more shall see,
No more shall see her face.
There was a word I might have said,
But what it was I do not know.
I let the days fly by and now,
Now I must say it to,
Must say it to her dead.