And hear the song of the dipper echo in the stream
Though of the old home-place I often do dream.
My memories take me back to the long ago
I fancy I see the old hill in his white hat of snow
And hear the cold winds of January in the bare old fields blow
And see the stream bank high in flood to the big river flow.
I may never again see the wildflowers of May
In green and beautiful Spring in the fields far away
And the sweet scents of Nature a thing of delight
And the hawthorns are covered in their blossoms of white.
I may never again see the wildflowers of May
In green and beautiful Spring in the fields far away
And the sweet scents of Nature a thing of delight
And the hawthorns are covered in their blossoms of white.
I never again may hear the robin sing
Or the voice of the cuckoo in the Northern Spring
But in fancy I hear the lark above the hill
And the babbling sound of the old upland rill.
I never again may see the swallows fly
Above the green valleys and fields of July
But in my flights of fancy the wren is in song
And his big bird voice one could never get wrong.