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THE ROAD TO RONDA
THE ROAD TO RONDA
Along the road to Ronda
Grow rosemary and thyme,
And trails of periwinkle
Among the brambles climb;
But 'tis the broom the paths along
That lifts the traveller's heart to song.
The broom its royal treasure
Spills lavish, far and wide,
No stone but has its banner
Of cloth-of-gold beside,
No weed but bears its nodding plume,
Its careless bravery of bloom.
The purple spears of lavender
Smell sweet as charity,
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