Unto the Rushall Lime Pits I br Now walk upon this lonely trail br That winds through tangled thickets dense br Of nettle gorse and thorn, br That cramp the narrow way ahead br Where dampened grass and puddles lie br Now littered by the fallen leaves br Upon this autumn morn. br br So fresh the air does seem to me br So cool the breeze upon my face br I look unto the skies above br That now begins to clear, br As clouds do break and drift afar br To thus reveal the sight of blue br As pallid shadows gently fall br And then do disappear. br br As through the woodland I do go br Where ivy climbs embittered trunks br The sun now shines through boughs above br And lights the sodden ground, br As over twisted roots I tread br Which cross the path that leads me to br The picture of the mirrored lake br Where golden trees surround. br br With grace their soft reflections rest br Upon the water calm and still br Where mallard and the moorhen swim br Close to the reeded shore, br I linger for a moment there br To listen to the blackbird sing br And cast my gaze across the scene br As leaves fall to the floor.