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34
GREEN FIELDS.
The old tune of Green Fields keeps buzzing in my head,
The fine tune of Green Fields that Tom the piper played
The night that I was married. 'Tis long I've sat my lone,
And the very life and heart of me hidden under a stone.
Green Fields!
The fine tune of Green Fields that Tom the piper played
The night that I was married. 'Tis long I've sat my lone,
And the very life and heart of me hidden under a stone.
Green Fields!
'Tis strange the young are taken and the old left in grief.
I'm like a fly in the winter that shelters under a leaf.
And still in the old cracked heart of me a fiddle will play
The dancing-tune that I'm troubled with the livelong day—
Green Fields!
I'm like a fly in the winter that shelters under a leaf.
And still in the old cracked heart of me a fiddle will play
The dancing-tune that I'm troubled with the livelong day—
Green Fields!
I can hear the feet of the boys and girls to the tune that tells
Of the grass-green silk and the daisies white and the honied smells.
'Twas the tune they played at my christening, my mother often said,
And they'd play it for my wake-tune and I to be lying dead!
Green Fields!
Of the grass-green silk and the daisies white and the honied smells.
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And they'd play it for my wake-tune and I to be lying dead!
Green Fields!
I think when I have travelled that journey sad and lone,
And me to be come to the last wall that keeps me from my own,
I'll hear them playing so soft and low beyond the opening door
And the dancers gathering thick as bees on the starry floor—
Green Fields!
And me to be come to the last wall that keeps me from my own,
I'll hear them playing so soft and low beyond the opening door
And the dancers gathering thick as bees on the starry floor—
Green Fields!
Now, pipers, play up smartly the tune of tunes the best,
For I'm tired of being old and sick and the ache in my breast.
'Tis queer they'd go and leave me, the wife and children young,
And I to be sitting old and dark, crooning my lonesome song—
Green Fields!
For I'm tired of being old and sick and the ache in my breast.
'Tis queer they'd go and leave me, the wife and children young,
And I to be sitting old and dark, crooning my lonesome song—
Green Fields!
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