The birds are gone to bed

The birds are gone to bed, the cows are still

And sheep lie panting on each old mole hill

And underneath the willow's grey-green bough

Like toil a-resting -- lies the fallow plough.

The timid hares throw daylight's fears away

On the lane's road to dust, and dance and play,

Then dabble in the grain by nought deterred

To lick the dewfall from the barley's beard.

Then out they sturt again and round the hill

Like happy thoughts -- dance -- squat -- and loiter still.

Till milking maidens in the early morn

Jingle their yokes and sturt them in the corn.

Through well known beaten paths each nimbling hare

Sturts quick as fear -- and seeks its hidden lair.