Round the May-pole, on the grass,
Mer-ry lit-tle foot-steps pass;
In the mid-dle Bes-sie stands,
With the May-pole in her hands;
While her play-mates dance and sing
Round her in an end-less ring.
Soon, in-deed, a feast they'll make,
Cow-slip tea, with nice plum-cake—
And so our leave of them we'll take. |
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