The sands are alive with sunshine, The bathers lounge and throng, And out in the bay a bugle Is lilting a gallant song. The clouds go racing eastward, The blithe wind cannot rest, And a shard on the shingle flashes Like the shining soul of a jest; While children romp in the surges, And sweethearts wander free, And the Firth as with laughter dimples . . . I would it were deep over me!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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