Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 10

       Under the greenwood tree

       Who loves to lie with me,

       And tune his merry note

       Unto the sweet bird's throat—

     Come hither, come hither, come hither!

          Here shall we see

          No enemy

     But winter and rough weather.

       Who doth ambition shun

       And loves to live i' the sun,

       Seeking the food he eats

       And pleased with what he gets—

     Come hither, come hither, come hither!

          Here shall he see

          No enemy

     But winter and rough weather.