Out of the city and over the hill,
Into the spaces where time stands still,
Under the tall trees, touching old wood,
Taking the way where warriors once stood;
Crossing the little bridge, losing my way,
Finding a friendly place where I could stay.
Those were the days, friend, when we were strong
And strode down the road to an old marching song,
When the dew on the grass was fresh every morn,
And we woke to the call of the ring-dove at dawn.
The years have gone by, and sometimes I falter,
But still I set out for a stroll or a saunter,
For the wind is as fresh as it was in our youth,
And the peach and the pear still the sweetest of fruit.
So cast away care and come roaming with me,
And know what it is to be perfectly free.