| Isn’t it a lovely night, and so alive
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| With fireflies providing us their holy light
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| And here we made a bed of boughs and thistledown
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| That we had found to lay upon the dewy ground
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| And isn’t it a lovely way, we got in from our play
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| Isn’t it babe, a sweet little baby
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| Wasn’t it a lovely breeze that swept the leaves
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| Of arbor eaves and bent to brush our blushing knees
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| And here we died our little deaths and we were left
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| To catch our breaths so swiftly lifting from our chests
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| And isn’t it a lovely way, we got in from our play
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| Isn’t it babe, a sweet little baby |