Past Buckhurst Hill the motor-bus
Takes and shakes the three of us.
When first we went, there were but two
In Epping Forest, I and you.

That summer as I understand
A forester from fairyland
Set a notice up, “No road,”
By the ways our feet had trod.

No one came and no one knew,
When the spring returned and blue
Flowers burned, how deep behind
Burned the blossoms of the mind.

No one guessed and no one heard
How beyond the singing bird,
Some one sang in solitude
In the wood within the wood.

No one watched the years go by
(Not even you, not even I),
In the wood alone apart
Green and waiting in the heart.

Till last week the forester
Heard a little footstep stir,
Took his notice down and smiled
At the coming of a child.

Conquering the solitude
A child is laughing in the wood.
Past Buckhurst Hill the motor-bus
Takes us back the three of us.