Two Poems of W. Barnes: No. 2 "Linden Lea"

Within the woodlands flowery-graded
By the oak-tree's mossy root
The shining grass-plains, timber-shaded
Now do quiver under foot
And birds do whistle overhead
And water's bubbling in its bed
And there for me the apple-tree
Do lean down low in Inverlee
When leaves that lately were a-springing
Now do fade within the copse
And painted birds do hush their singing
Up upon the timber-tops
And brown lea-fruits are turning red
In cloudless sunshine overhead
With fruit for me the apple-tree
Do lean down low in Inverlee
Let other folk make money faster
In the air of dark-roomed towns
I don't dread a peevish master
Though no man may heed my frowns
I'll be free to go abroad
Or take again my homeward road
To where for me the apple-tree
Do lean down low in Inverlee