I'll make love to you in all good places   Under black mountains in open spaces   By deep brown rivers, oh, that slither darkly   Through far marches where the blue hare races      Come with me to the winged isle   Northern father's western child   Where the dance of ages is playing still   Through far marches of acres wild      I'll make love to you in narrow side streets   With shuttered windows and crumbling chimneys      Come with me to the weary town   Discos silent under tiles   That slide from roof-tops, scatter softly   On concrete marches of acres wild      By red bricks pointed, oh, with cement fingers   Flaking damply from sagging shoulders      Come with me to the winged isle   Northern father's western child   Where the dance of ages is playing still   Through far marches of acres wild