Farewell to Sir Guy on his curveting steed

Farewell to Sir Guy on his curveting steed ,
Sing laurel , sing myrtle , sing ivy :
Then lean from your window to wish him good speed
For the lily grows fair in the field , lady .

There’s mirth in the meadow and bliss in the bower ,
Sing laurel , sing myrtle , sing ivy :
Then sit by your window and broider a flower ,
For the lily grows fair in the field , lady .

Their horns in the forest ring sudden and clear ,
Sing laurel , sing myrtle , sing ivy :
The huntsmen are blowing the mort of the deer ,
For the lily grows fair in the field , lady .

The huntsmen are bringing a burden with care ,
Sing laurel , sing myrtle , sing ivy :
Then lean from your window and see what they bear
For the lily lies low in the field , lady .

The horns they are silent , the bells they are loud ,
Sing laurel , sing myrtle , sing ivy :
Then sit by your window and fashion his shroud ,
For the lily lies dead in the field , lady .

When shafts are sped home then the heart it must bleed
Sing laurel , sing myrtle , sing ivy :
Farewell to Sir Guy on his curveting steed ,
For the lily lies dead in the field , lady .

19th May 1951