Of all the trees that grow so fair

old England to adorn.

Greater none beneath the sun,

than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn.

Beech wood fires burn bright and clear,

if logs are kept but for a year.

Chestnuts’ only good they say,

if for a long time, lain away.

Make a fire, of elder tree,

death within your house will be.

But Ash that’s new, And Ash that’s old,

Is fit for a queen, With a crown of gold.

And Ash that’s green, And Ash that’s brown,

Is fit for a queen,With golden crown.

Birch and Fir logs burn too fast,

they blaze up bright and do not last.

It is as the Irish said,

that Hawthorn makes the sweetest bread.

Elm wood burns like churchyard mould,

even the flames are cold.

But Ash that’s new, And Ash that’s old,

Is fit for a queen, With a crown of gold.

And Ash that’s green, And Ash that’s brown,

Is fit for a queen, With golden crown.

Poplar gives a bitter smoke,

it burns your eyes and makes you choke.

Apple wood will scent your room,

with an essence like perfume.

Oaken logs if dry and old,

keeps away the winters cold.

But Ash that’s new, And Ash that’s old,

Is fit for a queen, With a crown of gold.

And Ash that’s green, And Ash that’s brown,

Is fir for a queen, With golden crown.