Classic Poem

Fare thee well till next we meet
The winters snows and sleet
Has chilled our summers heat
Fare thee well
There bloom'd the small heath bell
My dear one loved so well
And the heather too as well
In the dell.

The woodbine round white thorn
Smelt sweet at early morn
Where little birds were born
In the nest
By the scented thymy hill
Where the wheat ear wipes her bill
We sat and loved our fill
Truly blest.

Though winter warps the ground
As if twas iron bound
Pleasant days shall yet be found
When flowers appear
She'll again come to renew
Her love promises so true
By the pretty heath bell blue
Growing near.

Oh tis a pleasant place
When the wild rose shews its face
And the Ivy trails embrace
Gnarled oak trees

We'll meet where we've oft met
For the winters on the fret
And the Primrose closed as yet