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The Ash Grove
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Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,
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When twilight is fading, I pensively rove,
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Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander
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Amid the dark shades of the lonely Ash grove.
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I was there while the blackbird was joyfully singing,
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I first met my dear one, the joy of my heart;
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Around us for gladness the bluebells were ringing,
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Ah! then little thought I how soon we should part.
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Still grows the bright sunshine o'er valley and mountain,
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Still warbles the blackbird his note from the tree;
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Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain,
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But what are the beauties of nature to me.
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With sorrow, deep sorrow, my bosom is laden,
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All day I go mourning in search of my love.
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Ye echoes, O tell me, where is the sweet maiden?
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She sleeps 'neath the green turf down by the Ash grove.
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The Ash Grove
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| Sarah Brightman |
