Page:Songs of a Savoyard.djvu/85

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81
SONGS OF A SAVOYARD

Ah! the doing and undoing
That the rogue could tell,
When the breeze is out a-wooing,
Who can woo so well?
Pretty brook, thy dream is over,
For thy love is but a rover!
Sad the lot of poplar trees,
Courted by the fickle breeze!

 
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