A TREE SONG Of all the trees that grow so fair, Surely we sing no little thing, In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Oak of the Clay lived many a day, Ash of the Loam was a lady at home, When Brut was an outlaw man; Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town (From which was London born); Witness hereby the ancientry Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Yew that is old in churchyard mould, But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled Back ye must speed for all that ye need, Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth To drop a limb on the head of him, Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight, But we have been out in the woods all night And we bring you news by word of mouth- Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good Sirs (All of a Midsummer morn)! England shall bide till Judgment Tide, |