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| Once in Oxford, down the High
Through gates of Stone archaic; Beauteous Botanic lie Gardens of green mosaic Enter in, reflective pools Meet the weary pilgrim eye. Withering, his feet he cools, Water lilies bobbing by. And on the azure surface They, with wings of gold and green, Dragonflies do lightly grace The already gorgeous scene. The scent of oranges lingers Playing sweetly on the breeze; Caress the face with fingers Made of fronds of willow trees. The grass that grows from seedling Plush, entices all but few, A peaceful nap from stealing �Neath the boughs of ancient Yew. Along the banks of Cherwell, And beyond the Christ Church Trees; This sanctum island hides well, �Mongst the universities. |
| OXFORD |