The Return From Town

 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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