The Ash grove, how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking,
The Harp through it's playing, has language for me,
Whenever the light, through it's branches is breaking,
A host of kind faces is gazing on me,
The friends of my childhood again are before me,
Each step wakes a mem'ry, as freely I roam,
With soft whispers laden, it's leaves rustle o'er me,
The Ash grove, the Ash grove, alone is my home ...
My laughter falls silent, my step loses it's lightness,
Old countryside measures fall soft on my ear,,
I fondly remember the past and and it's bightness,
The dear ones I mourn for are again gather here,
From out of the shadows, their lovin' looks greet me, And wistfully searching the leavy green dome,
I find other faces, fond bending to greet me,,
The Ash grove, the Ash grove, alone is my home ...
The Ash grove, how graceful,how plainly 'tis speaking,
The harp from it's playing has language for me ......... |
