All among the furze-bush, round the crystal dewpond,

Feed the silly sheep like a cloud upon the down.

Come safely home to croft, bear fleeces white and soft,

Then we'll send the wool-wains to fair London Town.

All in the dawnlight, white as a snowdrift

Lies the wool a-waiting the spindle and the wheel.

Sing, wheel, right cheerily, while I pace merrily,—

Knot by knot the thread runs on the busy reel.

All in the sunshine, gay as a garden,

Lie the skeins for weaving, the blue and gold and red.

Fly, shuttle, merrily, in and out, cheerily,

Making all the woof bright with a rainbow thread.

All in the noontide, wend we to market,—

Hear the folk a-chaffering like jackdaws up and down.

Master, give ear to me, here's cloth for you to see,

Fit for a canopy in fair London Town.

All in the twilight sweet with the hearth-smoke,

Homeward we go riding while the vesper bells ring.

Southdown or Highland Scot, Fleming or Huguenot,

Weaving our tapestries we shall serve our King!