The very layer of crab thats wattled in the hedge
The old post in its red paint crushed with waggons rushing through
The teazles prickly burrs or the little hubs of sedge
Will bring me to the old place where I lived a moon ago
But the flowers here they tell me in their brown red white & blue
That their sisters are now in the fields around my house at home
Though the sun here shines as bright & as christal be the dew
They are not so sweet as those flowers that in our meadows grew
A mossy plank across the flood though weedy be the dyke
Here fifty miles away & I cross another stream
It brings me to my own fields the brigs so very like
So here I only wander in the middle of a dream
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