And downland towards the river it’s voice is never still
The clear stream from the mountain goes babbling down the hill,
In the wood by Mushera Mountain in the last week of the Spring
To hear the robin singing is such a pleasant thing
I once worked in that woodland going back some time ago
In weather mild and sunny and in frost and rain and snow,
In the wood by Mushera Mountain i fancy i can hear
The cooing of the wood pigeons to me they seem as near
As those bright days in latter May some twenty years ago
When the pink breasted chaffinch was singing and the wren in the hedgerow
In his moments of excitement he burst forth into song
And his tiny wife and tiny children with him they chirped along.