The day is dull and dreary,And chilly winds and eerieAre sweeping through the tall oak trees that fringe the orchard lane.They send the dead leaves flying,And with a mournful cryingThey dash the western window-panes with slanting lines of rain.My little ’Trude and Teddy,Come quickly and make ready,Take down from off the highest shelf the book you think so grand.We’ll travel off together,To lands of golden weather,For well we know the...
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