'Tis sweet, in the shade of the lofty trees,
In the dewy morning time,
To hear the song of the joyous lark,
Or the distant village chime;
Or to sit and think,
By a streamlet's brink,
Breathing our thoughts in rhyme.

Tis sweet, in the shade of the lofty trees,
In the sultry hour of noon,
To lie at length on the cooling sward,
Secure from the heats of June;
To read our book
In a lonely nook,
While lulled by the cuckoo's tune.

But sweeter far than morn or noon,
In the pleasant time of night,
To roam alone with the lass we love,
And look in her eyes so bright!
Or to sit at our ease
Beneath the trees,
Breathing our loving plight.