|
As I walked over North Botley copse |
|
I saw a fine lady ghost across the tops |
|
With a ring on her finger and the wings on her toes |
|
She can have music wherever she goes |
|
Those were the days in the cradle of our love |
|
Those are the days I dream of sweetly |
|
Those were the days and I thank the stars above |
|
The flycatcher, the cherry tree, the chestnut coal fire sea |
|
As the last hope of sunshine embers on the hill |
|
At the end of all the rainbows where the timeless legends dwell |
|
A ghostly coach and four love, storms the midnight rain |
|
As silently aurora almightly refrains |
|
Those were the days in the cradle of our love |
|
Those are the days I dream of sweetly |
|
Those were the days and I thank the stars above |
|
The flycatcher, the cherry tree, the chestnut coal fire sea |
