The hawthorn brave upon the green
She hath a drooping smell and sad
But God put scent unto the bean
To drive each lass unto her lad
And woe betide the weary hour
For my love is in Normandy
And Oh! The Scent of the bean flower
Is like a burning fire in me
Fair fall the lusty thorn
She hath not curses at my hand
But would the man were never born
That sowed the bean along his land!
The Bean Flower was written by Dorothy L. Sayers & Ernest John Moeran.