The English wood in lazy summer
bereft of your song would die.
Comely bird you bless our land
where e're you choose to fly.
The balmy warmth of your dreamy call
lays many a sore heart at ease.
Not least the heart of the summer wood
where you tarry 'midst the trees.
Your presence warm as the summer sun
comforts all those lost astray.
A beacon bright your eye leads on
Lending joy to a gloomy day.
Your waking call greets the dawn
with the song of a simple heart.
Croodling the languorous lore of dreams
as cold nightly shades depart.
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