THE RETURN FROM TOWN
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s I sat down by Saddle StreamTo bathe my dusty feet there,A boy was standing on the bridgeAny girl would meet there. As I went over Woody KnobAnd dipped into the hollow,A youth was coming up the hillAny maid would follow. Then in I turned at my own gate,--And nothing to be sad for--To such a man as any wifeWould pass a pretty lad for.
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