You were a part of the green country,

Of the grey hills and the quiet places;

They are not the same, the fields and the mountains,

Without the lost and beloved faces,

And you were a part of the sweet country.

There's a road that winds by the foot of the mountains

Where I run in my dreams and you come to meet me,

With your blue eyes and your cheeks’ old roses,

The old fond smile that was quick to greet me.

They are not the same, the fields and the mountains.

There is something lost, there is something lonely,

The birds are singing, the streams are calling,

The sun's the same, and the wind in the meadows.

But o'er your grave are the shadows falling,

The soul is missing, and all is lonely.

It is what they said: you were part of the country,

You were never afraid of the wind and weather,

I can hear in dreams the feet of your pony,

You and your pony coming together,

You will drive no more through the pleasant country.

You were part of the fields and mountains,

Everyone knew you, everyone loved you;

All the world was your friend and neighbour,

The women smiled and the men approved you.

They are not the same, the fields and the mountains.

I sigh no more for the pleasant places,

The longer I've lost you the more I miss you.

My heart seeks you in dreams and shadows,

In dreams I find you, in dreams I kiss you,

And wake, alas! to the lonely places.