Over the fields where the cornflowers grow,
Over the fields where the poppies blow,
Over the stile there's a way we know —
Down to a rustling wood!

Over the fields where the daisies grow,
Over the bank where the willows blow,
Over the bridge there's a way we know —
Down to a rippling brook!

Over the hills where the rainbows go,
Where golden gorse and brambles grow,
Over the hills there's a way we know —
Down to a rolling sea!