A path old tree goes by thee crooking on
& through this little gate that claps and bangs
Against thy rifted trunk what steps hath gone
Though but a lonely way yet mystery hangs
Oer crowds of pastoral scenes recordless here
The boy might climb the nest in thy young boughs
Thats slept half an eternity in fear
Against thy rifted trunk what steps hath gone
Though but a lonely way yet mystery hangs
Oer crowds of pastoral scenes recordless here
The boy might climb the nest in thy young boughs
Thats slept half an eternity in fear
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