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Linden Lea
'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleaded, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded, Now do quiver under voot; An' birds do whissle over head, An' water's bubblen in its bed, An' there vor me the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. When leaves that leately wer a-springen Now do feade 'ithin the copse, An' painted birds do hush their zingen Up upon the timber's tops; An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnen red, In cloudless zunsheen, over head, 更多更詳盡歌詞 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔鏡歌詞網 Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
Let other vo'k meake money vaster In the air o' dark-room'd towns, I don't dread a peevish measter; Though noo man do heed my frowns, I be free to goo abrode, Or teake agean my hwomeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
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