The Hayloft

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Through all the pleasant meadow-side 

The grass grew shoulder-high, 

Till the shining scythes went far and wide 

And cut it down to dry. 

Those green and sweetly smelling crops 

They led the wagons home; 

And they piled them here in mountain tops 

For mountaineers to roam. 

Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail, 

Mount Eagle and Mount High;– 

The mice that in these mountains dwell, 

No happier are than I! 

Oh, what a joy to clamber there, 

Oh, what a place for play, 

With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air, 

The happy hills of hay!

Category: Nature Songs

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