Lyrics

Oh, to be in England Now that April's there And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England, oh And after April, when May follows And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows Hark, where my blossom'd pear tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twicе over Lest you should think he nеver could recapture The first fine careless rapture And though the fields look rough with hoary dew All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower