Come, put yer little hand in mine.
And let it be at rest.
It minds me of a tired bird
Within a warm brown nest ;
And bend that pretty head o' your'n,
And lay it on my breast.
The lambs they all be wearied out,
I penned them in the fold ;
The lights along the Malvern Hills
They shine like stars o' gold ;
And yonder rises up the moon.
All round, and big, and bold.
There's not a single passer-by.
Nor sound along the lane,
And Oh ! the earth be smelhng sweet.
Like meadows after rain.
Then come a little closer, maid,
And kiss me once again.
