In Dorset Dear

In Dorset Dear they're making hay

In just the old West Country way.

With fork and rake and old-time gear

They make the hay in Dorset Dear.

From early morn till twilight grey

They toss and turn and shake the hay.

And all the countryside is gay

With roses on the fallen may,

For‘ tis the hay-time of the year

In Dorset Dear.

The loaded waggons wend their way

Across the pasture-lands, and stay

Beside the hedge where foxgloves peer;

And ricks that shall be fashioned here

Will be the sweetest stuff, they say,

In Dorset Dear!