Timid Robin still is lilting,
“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”
Oh the golden old Benonis
With a heart as rich and yellow
As the moon, no apple known is
Half so high or half so mellow,
For they’ve drunk the sun’s whole shine in
And preserved our boyhood’s story
With it’s olden, golden glory,
“Ine-een tor-I fert-hi mine-een.”