Intro: Am
       F  Am  C  G  C  
       C  F  Am  G 
       Am  G  F  G
       C  F  Am  G  C

           Am
Within the woodlands, flowery gladed,
F                 Am  G C
By the oak tree's mossy moot,

The shining grass-blades, timber-shaded,
F             Am    G
Now do quiver under foot;
             Am          G
And birds do whistle overhead,
            F               G
And water's bubbling in its bed,
              C
And there for me the apple tree
   F                Am  G  C
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.


                 Am
When leaves that lately were a-springing
F               Am G   C
Now do fade within the copse,

And painted birds do hush their singing
F           Am     G
Up upon the timber tops;
                 Am                G
And brown-leaved fruit's a-turning red,
             F             G
In cloudless sunshine, overhead,
               C
With fruit for me, the apple tree
   F                Am G   C
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.


          Am
Let other folk make money faster
F             Am   G      C
In the air of dark-roomed towns,

I don't dread a peevish master;
F                Am      G
Though no man do heed my frowns,
     Am          G
I be free to go abroad,
         F                G
Or take again my homeward road
              C
To where, for me, the apple tree
   F                Am G   C
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.