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And often o'er thy beauteous form,
The wintry wind has blown,
And I dark sorrow's pelting storm
Too oft, alas! have known.
Autumn has shook thy fruit from thee,
Yet still thou bloom'st, dear chestnut tree!
The wintry wind has blown,
And I dark sorrow's pelting storm
Too oft, alas! have known.
Autumn has shook thy fruit from thee,
Yet still thou bloom'st, dear chestnut tree!
Oh tree of beauty! soon I leave
The village of our birth,
And yet for this I do not grieve,
For in their kindred earth
Are laid the friends most dear to me,
Therefore I quit it—chestnut tree!
The village of our birth,
And yet for this I do not grieve,
For in their kindred earth
Are laid the friends most dear to me,
Therefore I quit it—chestnut tree!
And never may the vulgar herd
Beneath thy calm shade rest,
Beneath thy calm shade rest,
