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Under the greenwood tree
Who loves to lie with me,
And tune his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

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Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,

And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy

But Winter and rough weather.

William Shakspeare. THE GREENWOOD.

OH! when 'tis summer weather,
And the yellow bee, with fairy sound,
The waters clear is humming round,
And the cuckoo sings unseen,
And the leaves are waving green-

Oh! then 'tis sweet,

In some retreat,
To hear the murmuring dove,
With those whom on earth alone we love,
And to wind through the greenwood together.

But when 'tis winter weather,

And crosses grieve,
And friends deceive,
And rain and sleet
The lattice beat-
Oh! then 'tis sweet

To sit and sing
Of the friends with whom, in the days of Spring,
We roamed through the greenwood together.

W. L. Bowles.




into the summer woods;
There entereth no annoy;
All greenly wave the chestnut leaves,

And the earth is full of joy.

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