THE ROOK SITS HIGH.
The Rook sits high when the blast sweeps by,
Right pleased with his wild see-saw;
And though hollow and bleak be the fierce wind's shriek,
It is mock'd by his loud caw-caw.
What careth he for the bloom-robed tree,
Or the rose so sweet and fair?
Right pleased with his wild see-saw;
And though hollow and bleak be the fierce wind's shriek,
It is mock'd by his loud caw-caw.
What careth he for the bloom-robed tree,
Or the rose so sweet and fair?
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