I Be Thinkin’

THE hillside green with bracken, And the red plough land, The brownish hurrying rivers, Where the willows stand. The thickets and the meadows, And the strong oak trees; O, tell me traveller, have yer Seen the like o’ these?

The mists along the common, At the close of day, They’re lovely when the twilight Makes the vale look grey. The lanes be long and lonely, But they all lead home; I be thinkin’ lads are foolish When they wants to roam!