Primrose Hill
On Primrose Hill in the early spring
The soft winds blow and sweet birds sing
And the little brown thrush is king—is king.
On Primrose Hill in the sunny weather
The children dance on the grass together
And the larch's bough has a bright green feather.
The soft winds blow and sweet birds sing
And the little brown thrush is king—is king.
On Primrose Hill in the sunny weather
The children dance on the grass together
And the larch's bough has a bright green feather.
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