I went into the woods to make a song,
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Wherewith to buy with words my love a gown;
And, scarce had I but entered, the wild rose
Threw all her blossoms down.
Yea! April stripped her virgin body bare,
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Standing all naked in the morning shine,
Robbed her sweet self of all her raiment fair,
To clothe that love of mine.
Then, lost in looking, almost I forgot
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My purpose coming to that woody place;
Yea! almost I forgot to make my song,