Song in the Hills
My song is slight as words may be,
And heedless as the breeze,
Light as the shining drops of rain
That shake from the budded trees.
And it will hardly still a grief
Nor turn a heart from aching—
But there's a windy hill that knows
What joy was in its making!
And heedless as the breeze,
Light as the shining drops of rain
That shake from the budded trees.
And it will hardly still a grief
Nor turn a heart from aching—
But there's a windy hill that knows
What joy was in its making!
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