Dusk In The Lane

COME, put yer little hand in mine, And let it be at rest, It minds me of a tired bird Within a warm brown nest; And bend that pretty head o’ your’n, And lay it on my breast.

The lambs they all be wearied out, I penned them in the fold; The lights along the Malvern Hills They shine like stars o’ gold; And yonder rises up the moon, All round, and big, and bold.

There’s not a single passer-by, Nor sound along the lane, And Oh! the earth be smelling sweet, Like meadows after rain. Then come a little closer, maid, And kiss me once again.