The morning air is so pure,
And I smell the pines so dear,
Even though it is coming from far away west,
And it puzzles me by its unrest,
Those tall pines with green boughs like soft fur,
Enticing  even in the blind hour,Image
And those country roads leading across the mountains,
Are ringing with songs as if from musical fountains,
How can anyone be averse,
Unless he is under the curse,
And stay away from such a heaven and all,
Where the pines grow tall and lion never sleeps at all.


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