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When light comes creeping through the hills That shine with mist, When winds blow soft, Windmills wake and whirl. In Holland, in Holland, Everything is cheerful Across the sea: White nets are beside the water Where ships sail by. The mountains begin to get blue, The Dutch girls begin to sing, The windmills begin to whirl. Then night comes The mountains turn dark gray And faint away into night. Not a bird chirps his song. All is drowsy, All is strange, With the moon and stars shining round the world: The wind stops, The windmills stop In Holland . . . |