Текст оригинала на английском языке
We the fairies blithe and antic, Of Dimensions not gigantic, Though the moonshine mostly keep us, Oft in orchards frisk and peep us, Stolen sweets are always sweeter; Stolen kisses much completer; Stolen looks are nice in chapels; Stolen, stolen be your apples. When to bed the world are bobbing, Then's the time to go orchard robbing; Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling Were it not for stealing, stealing.
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