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THE WOOD-PATH
The little wood-path wandered
Green and brown and gay
Up a hill and down a hill,
Through a dew-wet way.
Green and brown and gay
Up a hill and down a hill,
Through a dew-wet way.
It slipped beneath the pine-trees
Where the winds blew sweet,
Past goldenrod and feverfew
And fields of whispering wheat;
Where the winds blew sweet,
Past goldenrod and feverfew
And fields of whispering wheat;
So far and wide it wandered,
So many a dusk-sweet way,
I thought the little wood-path
Was guiding me astray—
So many a dusk-sweet way,
I thought the little wood-path
Was guiding me astray—
But oh, the little wood-path
It knew, it was wise,
It led me to your waiting arms,
To your lips, your eyes!
It knew, it was wise,
It led me to your waiting arms,
To your lips, your eyes!
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