Within the woodlands, flow'ry gladed,
By the oak trees' mossy moot;
The shining grass blades, timber shaded,
Now do quiver under foot;
And birds do whistle overhead,
And water's bubbling in its bed;
And there for me,
The apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

When leaves, that lately were a-springing,
Now do fade within the copse,
And painted birds do hush their singing
Up upon the timber tops;
And brown leaved fruit's a-turning red,
In cloudless sunshine overhead,
With fruit for me,
The apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

Let other folk make money faster;
In the air of darkened towns;
I don't dread a peevish master.
Though no man may heed my frowns
I be free to go abroad,
Or take again my home-ward road,
To where, for me,
The apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

abc | midi | pdf

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Source: Singing Together, Summer 1961, BBC Publications

Notes:
Somewhat confusingly described as "A Dorset Song by Vaughan Williams, Words by W. Barnes." I am not sure whether this is a melody entirely composed by Vaughan Williams, merely while he was in or thinking of Dorset; or by him in the style of a Dorset folksong (which, of course, he was very familar with), or whether it is the melody of an actual Dorset folksong arranged and adapted to fit the words by W. Barnes ...

Whatever, it became one of my favourite songs the first time I heard it at around seven or eight.

Roud:
Laws:
Child: