Echo
I SOMETIMES wonder where he lives.
This Echo that I never see.
I hear his voice now in the hedge,
Then down behind the willow tree.
And when I call, "Oh, please come out,'
"Come out," he always quick replies.
Hello, hello," again I say;
"Hello, hello," he softly cries.
He must be jolly, Echo must;
For when I laugh, "Ho, ho, ho, ho,"
Like any other friendly boy,
He answers me with "Ho, ho, ho."
I think perhaps he'd like to play;
I know some splendid things to do.
He must be lonely hiding there;
I wouldn't like it. Now, would you?
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