Down yonder green valley where streamlets meander,
When twilight is fading, I pensively rove.
Or at the right noon-tide in solitude wander,
Amid the dark shades of the lonely ash grove.
Tis there where the blackbird is cheerfully singing,
Each warbler enchants with his notes from the tree.
Ah, then, little think I of sorrow or sadness,
The ash grove entrancing spells beauty for me.