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The Return From Town

by
 As I sat down by Saddle Stream
 To bathe my dusty feet there,
A boy was standing on the bridge
 Any girl would meet there.
As I went over Woody Knob And dipped into the hollow, A youth was coming up the hill Any maid would follow.
Then in I turned at my own gate,— And nothing to be sad for— To such a man as any wife Would pass a pretty lad for.

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