Robbins Library Digital Projects Announcement: We are currently working on a large-scale migration of the Robbins Library Digital Projects to a new platform. This migration affects The Camelot Project, The Robin Hood Project, The Crusades Project, The Cinderella Bibliography, and Visualizing Chaucer.
While these resources will remain accessible during the course of migration, they will be static, with reduced functionality. They will not be updated during this time. We anticipate the migration project to be complete by Summer 2025.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us directly at robbins@ur.rochester.edu. We appreciate your understanding and patience.
While these resources will remain accessible during the course of migration, they will be static, with reduced functionality. They will not be updated during this time. We anticipate the migration project to be complete by Summer 2025.
If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us directly at robbins@ur.rochester.edu. We appreciate your understanding and patience.
Robin Hood's Good-Night
Good-night, good-night, Heart's Dearest. The Hunter holds the sky;
There wakes no soul in Sherwood save Little John and I.
'Twixt thee and me the grasses grow thick and soft and green,
And falls a drift of hawthorn above thee for a screen.
'Twixt thee and me, Heart's Dearest, the grass is green.
Shall I not soon, Heart's Dearest, good-morrow to thee say,
And kiss thy lips of kisses forlorn for many a day?
Shall I bid thee good-morrow, good-night to Little John,
And lay me down beside thee to slumber sweetly on,
Nor dream of lonely Sherwood, nor Little John?
Shall we go seek, Heart's Dearest, that land of afternoon,
Where lovers to their lasses pipe out a sleepy tune,
Where care may never enter, and love grow never cold,
Where Allan walks, a-harping a tune we knew of old?
Shall we not journey thither, O heart of gold?
There wakes no soul in Sherwood save Little John and I.
'Twixt thee and me the grasses grow thick and soft and green,
And falls a drift of hawthorn above thee for a screen.
'Twixt thee and me, Heart's Dearest, the grass is green.
Shall I not soon, Heart's Dearest, good-morrow to thee say,
And kiss thy lips of kisses forlorn for many a day?
Shall I bid thee good-morrow, good-night to Little John,
And lay me down beside thee to slumber sweetly on,
Nor dream of lonely Sherwood, nor Little John?
Shall we go seek, Heart's Dearest, that land of afternoon,
Where lovers to their lasses pipe out a sleepy tune,
Where care may never enter, and love grow never cold,
Where Allan walks, a-harping a tune we knew of old?
Shall we not journey thither, O heart of gold?
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