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Smith sang the old English song to them. "Springe is ycomen in, Dappled lark singe; Snow melteth, Runnell pelteth, Smelleth winde of newe buddinge. "Summer is ycomen in, Loude singe cucku; Groweth seede, Bloweth meade, And springeth the weede newe. "Autumne is ycomen in, Ceres filleth horne; Reaper swinketh, Farmer drinketh, Creaketh waine with newe corn.
"Winter is ycomen in, With stormy sadde cheere; In the paddocke, Whistle ruddock, Brighte sparke in the dead yeare." "That's a good stanza to end with," said Ethel Blue, as she bade her aunt "Good-bye." "We've been talking about gardens and plants and flowers all the afternoon, and it would have seemed queer to put on a heavy coat to go home in if you hadn't said 'Winter is ycomen in."
"`Sitteth all still, and hearkeneth to me: The King of Almayne, by my leaute, Thritti thousand pound asked he "A squirrel, Mistress Maude! shall I catch it? "Dame avec l'oeil de beaute "So, my good lad, softly! so, Lyard! How clereful a day! Nigh as soft as summer. "`Summer is ycomen in Merry sing, cuckoo! Groweth glede, and bloweth mead, And springeth wood anew.
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