When Mary Goes Walking
When Mary goes walking
The autumn winds blow,
The poplars they curtsey,
The larches bend low;
The oaks and the beeches
Their gold they fling down,
To make her a carpet,
To make her a crown.
The autumn winds blow,
The poplars they curtsey,
The larches bend low;
The oaks and the beeches
Their gold they fling down,
To make her a carpet,
To make her a crown.
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