For I will be there amongst all of England’s green and bursting forests of dawn’s first light,
Down within fields where the Robin is seen,
And from the Yew and the Willow the Thrush will take flight.
By leafy lanes that wander to,
Those shaded Walks and Dell,
All earthen turns and Avenues where rolling Meadows swell.
To lonely farms sat in the Sun with chequered Pastures found,
The sighing Brook that yonder runs where Meadowsweet abound.
And what of Rain in its sullen mood with its spite to desecrate day,
But will only cleanse and parade anew,
All that Nature does proudly convey.
Though such times the troubled Wind will roar those Trees to shake and hound,
Like hurried Breakers to the shore,
A deep and Soulful sound.
For I will be there in Albion’s pleasant glade where life’s joys were daily sought,
At the ending of days when my peace is made,
It’s here my Spirit will walk.