By Oxford

Those who go by Oxford, they are sure to see,
Where the road dips down, by the high elm tree,
Where the low flats are lying,
And the kildeer crying,
Those who go by Oxford, they are sure to see.
Those who go by Oxford, surely they will know,
Where the little willows lean, and the fire-flies glow,
Where the white masts are lying,
And a night-wind sighing,
Those who go by Oxford, surely they will know.

Those who go by Oxford, have this for a sign,
Where a wild-apple leans, to a wild grape vine,
And the tang air holds a hint,
Of Sweet Mary and of mint,
Those who go by Oxford, have it for a sign.