Old Herne aromping in the wilds
Perchance exceeds his bound
And in a garden verdant
His hoof'ed feet were found

The careful rows of hellebore
The finely tilled red earth
The bursting bulbs of amaryllis
Enjoying their rebirth

All seemed queer to Herne the Hart
With moss and ivy twined
His ancient heart and wild blue eyes
No sense in this can find

And I realise now
There's no place for this wildness of mine
In your cultivated calm