Invitation

Come ye, come ye, to the green, green wood; Loudly the blackbird is singing, The squirrel is feasting on blossom and bud, And the curled fern is springing; Here ye may sleep In the moss so deep, While the moon is so warm and so weary, And sweetly awake As the sun through the brake Bids the fauvette and white-throat sing cheery. The quicken is tufted with blossom of snow, And is throwing its perfume around it; The wryneck replies to the cuckoo's halloo, For joy that again she has found it; The jay's red breast Peeps over her nest, In the midst of the crab-blossoms blushing; And the call of the pheasant Is frequent and pleasant, When all other calls are hushing.