The wood so softly singingIn a language strange to hearAnd the song it sings will find youAs the twilight draws you near
Graunt that no Hobgoblins fright me
No hungrie devils rise up and bite me;
No Urchins, Elves or drunkards Ghoasts
Shove me against walles or posts.
O graunt that I may no black thing touch.
Though many men love to meet such.
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