My hope, my love, we will go
Into the woods, scattering the dews,
And there behold the salmon,
And the blackbird in its nest,
The deer and the roebuck calling,
The sweetest bird on the branches warbling,
The cuckoo on the summit of the green hill,
And death shall never approach us, in the bosom of the fragrant wood.
(Trad. Irish, with apologies to Bushes & Briars)