He will take no wrong when he lieth along
'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,
Or he would call it a sin;
But--we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
And we bring you news by word of mouth--
Good news for cattle and corn--
Now is the Sun come up from the South,
With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn!

Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer morn)!
England shall bide till Judgement Tide,
By Oak and Ash and Thorn!




YOUNG MEN AT THE MANOR


They were fishing, a few days later, in the bed of the brook that for
centuries had cut deep into the soft valley soil. The trees closing
overhead made long tunnels through which the sunshine worked in blobs
and patches. Down in the tunnels were bars of sand and gravel, old roots
and trunks covered with moss or painted red by the irony water;
foxgloves growing lean and pale towards the light; clumps of fern and
thirsty shy flowers who could not live away from moisture and shade. In