When the harvest all was gathered
In the sunny autumn weather,
To the greenwood, blithe and merry,
We went nutting all together;

And as the woods we wander'd
So dim and dark and green,
We heard a sweet voice calling
Though no one could be seen:

"Two sticks across,
And a little bit of moss;
It'll do, it'll do it'll do, Coo, coo, coo".

The wild things of the woodlands
Scarce seemed of us afraid;
The blue Jay flash'd before us,
And the squirrel near us played.

We ate our nuts and rested
On a fallen tree, moss-grown,
And still a voice kept calling
In the softest, tend'rest tone:

"Two sticks across,
And a little bit of moss;
It'll do, it'll do it'll do, Coo, coo, coo".