Dreaming of
a shadowy man that winds a shadowy horn.
Robin Hood
is here again: all his merry thieves
Hear a
ghostly bugle-note shivering through the leaves,
Calling as
he used to call, faint and far away,
In Sherwood,
in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Merry, merry
England has kissed the lips of June:
All the
wings of fairyland were here beneath the moon,
Like a
flight of rose-leaves fluttering in a mist
Of opal and
ruby and pearl and amethyst.
Merry, merry
England is waking as of old,
With eyes of
blither hazel and hair of brighter gold:
For Robin
Hood is here again beneath the bursting spray
In Sherwood,
in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Love is in
the greenwood building him a house
Of wild rose
and hawthorn and honeysuckle boughs:
Love is in
the greenwood, dawn is in the skies,
And Marian
is waiting with a glory in her eyes.
Hark! The
dazzled laverock climbs the golden steep!
Marian is
waiting: is Robin Hood asleep?
Round the
fairy grass-rings frolic elf and fay,
In Sherwood,
in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Oberon,
Oberon, rake away the gold,
Rake away
the red leaves, roll away the mould,
Rake away
the gold leaves, roll away the red,
And wake
Will Scarlett from his leafy forest bed.
Friar Tuck
and Little John are riding down together
With
quarter-staff and drinking-can and grey goose-feather.
The dead are
coming back again, the years are rolled away
In Sherwood,
in Sherwood, about the break of day.
Softly over
Sherwood the south wind blows.
All the
heart of England his in every rose
Hears across
the greenwood the sunny whisper leap,
Sherwood in
the red dawn, is Robin Hood asleep?
Hark, the
voice of England wakes him as of old
And,
shattering the silence with a cry of brighter gold
Bugles in
the greenwood echo from the steep,
Sherwood in
the red dawn, is Robin Hood asleep?
Where the
deer are gliding down the shadowy glen
All across
the glades of fern he calls his merry men--
Doublets of
the Lincoln green glancing through the May
In Sherwood,
in Sherwood, about the break of day--
Calls them
and they answer: from aisles of oak and ash
Rings the
Follow! Follow! and the boughs begin to crash,
The ferns
begin to flutter and the flowers begin to fly,
And through
the crimson dawning the robber band goes by.
Robin!
Robin! Robin! All his merry thieves
Answer as
the bugle-note shivers through the leaves,
Calling as
he used to call, faint and far away,
In Sherwood,
in Sherwood, about the break of day.