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作词 : Dylan Thomas |
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作曲 : Cerys Matthews/Mason Neely |
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Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs |
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About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, |
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The night above the dingle starry, |
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Time let me hail and climb |
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Golden in the heydays of his eyes, |
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And honored among wagons I was prince of the apple towns |
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And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves |
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Trail with daisies and barley |
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Down the rivers of the windfall light. |
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And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns |
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About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home, |
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In the sun that is young once only, |
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Time let me play and be |
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Golden in the mercy of his means, |
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And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves |
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Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold, |
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And the sabbath rang slowly |
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In the pebbles of the holy streams. |
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All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay |
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Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air |
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And playing, lovely and watery |
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And fire green as grass. |
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And nightly under the simple stars |
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As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away, |
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All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars |
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Flying with the ricks, and the horses |
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Flashing into the dark. |
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And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white |
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With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all |
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Shining, it was Adam and maiden, |
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The sky gathered again |
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And the sun grew round that very day. |
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So it must have been after the birth of the simple light |
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In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm |
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Out of the whinnying green stable |
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On to the fields of praise. |
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And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house |
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Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long, |
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In the sun born over and over, |
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I ran my heedless ways, |
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My wishes raced through the house high hay |
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And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows |
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In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs |
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Before the children green and golden |
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Follow him out of grace. |
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Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me |
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Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand, |
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In the moon that is always rising, |
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Nor that riding to sleep |
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I should hear him fly with the high fields |
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And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land. |
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Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means, |
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Time held me green and dying |
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Though I sang in my chains like the sea. |
