There peeps the wood stile with its ivy wreath
There peeps the wood stile with its ivy wreath
On which I clomb to reach the early rose
There waves the oaktree to the winds soft breath
Where oft I clomb to rob the quawking crows
On which I clomb to reach the early rose
There waves the oaktree to the winds soft breath
Where oft I clomb to rob the quawking crows
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