William Wallace Harney ( 2 of 2 )
Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
Oh! happy are the apples when the south winds blow.
On the road, the lonely road,
Under the cold, white moon;
Under the rugged trees he strode,
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On the road, the lonely road,
Under the cold, white moon;
Under the rugged trees he strode,
Whistled and shifted his heavy load--
Whistled a foolish tune.
