Sherwood
in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake?
Grey
and ghostly shadows are gliding through the brake,
Shadows
of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn,
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.
