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作词 : William Barnes
作曲 : Ralph Vaughan Williams
Within the woodlands, flow’ry gladed,
By the oak trees’ mossy moot,
The shining grass blades, timber shaded,
Now do quiver underfoot;
And birds do whistle overhead,
And water’s bubbling in its bed;
And there for me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
✿
When leaves, that lately were a-springing,
Now do fade within the copse,
And painted birds do hush their singing,
Up upon the timber tops;
And brown leaved fruit’s a-turning red,
In cloudless sunshine overhead,
With fruit for me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
☁︎
Let other folk make money faster
In the air of dark-room’d towns;
I don’t dread a peevish master,
Though no man may heed my frowns.
I be free to go abroad,
Or take again my homeward road
To where, for me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
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