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Come to the land where the babies grow,

Like flowers in the green, green grass.


Tiny babes that swing and crow


Whenever the warm winds pass,


And laugh at their own bright eyes aglow


In a fairy looking-glass.


Come to the sea where the babies sail


In ships of shining pearl,


Borne to the west by a golden gale


Of sun-beams all awhirl;


And perhaps a baby brother will sail


To you, my little girl.

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