She stole away when the night was still,
Wearing her prettiest clothes,
Up to the beeches on Yellowham Hill,
To meet with a wild wose.
Fierce he was, and covered in hair,
With a gleam in his ancient eye.
He beckoned her into his leafy lair
With a smile that made her sigh.
At morn she rose with blushing cheeks,
And fled home to her father’s mill.
She tarried there some forty weeks,
Then went back to the woods on Yellowham Hill.
Up she climbed with a green-haired child,
And came down alone from the wose’ wild.