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John Roby · Romanticismo
inglés
Merry, merry elves we be,
Under the greenwood tree,
Dancing merrily.
And the moon through yon white and fleecy cloud,
Pale, silent, and softly creeps,
Like a spectre clad in a silvery shroud,
While nature quietly sleeps.
We merrily trip it with twinkling feet,
As the leaves rustle o'er us in melody sweet.
Away, away,
At break of day,
For night is the fairies' holiday.
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