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Summer
Come we to the summer, to the summer we will come, For the woods are full of
bluebells and the hedges full of bloom, And the crow is on the oak a-building
of her nest, And love is burning diamonds in my true lover’s breast; She
sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting of her hair, And I will to my true
lover with a fond request repair; I will look upon her face, I will in her
beauty rest, And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.
The
clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May, The merry bee is trampling
the pinky threads all day, And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy
nest In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover’s breast; I’ll
lean upon her breast and I’ll whisper in her ear That I cannot get a wink
o’sleep for thinking of my dear; I hunger at my meat and I daily fade
away Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.
John Clare (1865)
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 www.godandmusic.com
The music Kristofer writes.
  

Devotionals with one of the centuries best teachers.
  
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