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We, the Fairies, blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.

Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.

When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing.
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actually this poem was written by Thomas Randolph in the 1600's. :-) Great poem.
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actually this poem was written by Thomas Randolph in the 1600's. :-) Great poem.

Leigh Hunt translated the poem to English. Thomas Randolph's original was in Latin from Amyntas. The metre and flavor should be credited to Hunt.

That said, I didn't realize Randolph was the original author.
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