I cannot know what country owns thee now, With France's forest lilies on thy brow. When England knew thee thou wert passing fair; I never knew a foreign face so rare....
Stopt by the storm, that long in sullen black From the south-west stained its encroaching track, Haymakers, hustling from the rain to hide, Sought the grey willows by the pasture-side;...
Stopt by the storm, that long in sullen black From the south-west stain'd its encroaching track, Haymakers, hustling from the rain to hide, Sought the grey willows by the pasture-side;...
The crow sat on the willow tree A-lifting up his wings, And glossy was his coat to see, And loud the ploughman sings, "I love my love because I know The milkmaid she loves me";...
Sweet is the violet, th' scented pea, Haunted by red-legged, sable bee, But sweeter far than all to me Is she I love so dearly; Than perfumed pea and sable bee, The face I love so dearly. ...
"Tweet" pipes the robin as the cat creeps by Her nestling young that in the elderns lie, And then the bluecap tootles in its glee, Picking the flies from orchard apple tree,...
How oft on Sundays, when I'd time to tramp, My rambles led me to a gipsy's camp, Where the real effigy of midnight hags, With tawny smoked flesh and tattered rags,...
How oft on Sundays, when I'd time to tramp, My rambles led me to a gipsy's camp, Where the real effigy of midnight hags, With tawny smoked flesh and tatter'd rags,...
The gipsy's life is a merry life, And ranting boys we be; We pay to none or rent or tax, And live untith'd and free. None care for us, for none care we, And where we list we roam,...
Now the wheat is in the ear, and the rose is on the brere, And bluecaps so divinely blue, with poppies of bright scarlet hue, Maiden, at the close o' eve, wilt thou, dear, thy cottage leave,...
Of all the swains that meet at eve Upon the green to play, The shepherd is the lad for me, And I'll ne'er say him nay. Though father glowers beneath his hat, And mother talks of bed,...
Up this green woodland-ride let's softly rove, And list the nightingale - she dwells just here. Hush ! let the wood-gate softly clap, for fear The noise might drive her from her home of love ;...
Youth has no fear of ill, by no cloudy days annoyed, But the old man's all hath fled, and his hopes have met their doom: The bud hath burst to flower, and the flower been long destroyed,...
'T is pleasant to bear recollections in mind Of joys that time hurries away-- To look back on smiles that have passed like the wind, And compare them with frowns of to-day....
Tis three years and a quarter since I left my own fireside To go aboard a ship through love, and plough the ocean wide. I crossed my native fields, where the scarlet poppies grew,...
The whitethorn is budding and rushes are green, The ivy leaves rustle around the ash tree, On the sweet sunny bank blue violets are seen, That tremble beneath the wild hum of the bee....
How sweet is every lengthening day, And every change of weather, When Summer comes, on skies blue grey, And brings her hosts together, Her flocks of birds, her crowds of flowers,...