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Babies


Come to the land where 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 sunbeams all awhirl;

And perhaps a baby brother will sail

To you, my little girl.


› Babies

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