There is something to love in a path through trees, The quiet of walking, just we two Pleasure is ours in blossom time or in green or gold-falling leaves Under our bower of branches, our private avenue.
There is something to love in a path through trees,
The quiet of walking, just we two
Pleasure is ours in blossom time or in green or gold-falling leaves
Under our bower of branches, our private avenue.
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