| When in the Springtime of the year
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| When the trees are crowned with leaves
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| When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
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| Are dressed in ribbons fair
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| When owls call the breathless moon
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| In the blue veil of the night
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| The shadows of the trees appear
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| Amidst the lantern light
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| We’ve been rambling all the night
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| And some time of this day
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| Now returning back again
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| We bring a garland gay
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| Who will go down to those shady groves
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| And summon the shadows there
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| And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
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| In the springtime of the year
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| The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
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| That when the fiddler plays
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| All their voices can be heard
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| Long past their woodland days
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| We’ve been rambling all the night
|
| And some time of this day
|
| Now returning back again
|
| We bring a garland gay
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| And so they linked their hands and danced
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| Round in circles and in rows
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| And so the journey of the night descends
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| When all the shades are gone
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| «A garland gay we bring you here
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| And at your door we stand
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| It is a sprout well budded out
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| The work of Our Lord’s hand»
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| We’ve been rambling all the night
|
| And some time of this day
|
| Now returning back again
|
| We bring a garland gay
|
| We’ve been rambling all the night
|
| And some time of this day
|
| Now returning back again |