Bill Staines

The Ash Grove

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Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading, I pensively roam.
Or at the, bright noontide in solitude I wander,
Amid the dark shades of the lovely Ash Grove.
'Tis while the blackbird is cheerfully singing,
Each warbler enchants with it's note from the tree.
Ah, then little think I of sorrow or sadness,
The Ash Grove , enchanting, spells beauty for me.

The Ash Grove how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking,
The harp through it playing has language for me.
Whenever the light through its branches is breaking,
A host of kind faces is gazing on me.
The friends of my childhood again are before me,
Each step wakes a memory as freely I roam.
With soft whispers laden its leaves rustle o'er me,
The Ask Grove, The Ash Grove, alone is my home.

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Bill Staines en Septiembre