John Barleycorn got up again,And sore surprised them all.
John, Barleycorn, sore, surprised
Now, of my threescore years and ten,Twenty will not come again,And take from seventy springs a score,It only leaves me fifty more.And since to look at things in bloomFifty springs are little room,About the woodlands I will goTo see the cherry hung with snow.
Now, threescore, years, seventy, springs, leaves, me, fifty, moreAnd
Yes, I'd like to receive Word of the Day emails from YourDictionary.com
By continuing, you agree to our
Please set a username for yourself.
People will see it as Author Name with your public flash cards.