How many times did shutters open

to your step upon this path?

Did you walk or count your horse’s gait

composing as you rode

to Anne Hathaway’s house?

Was it the sun that smiled

upon your pilgrimage

hastening you on your way?

Or did the moon light the road that wound

to Anne Hathaway’s house?

With the words that flowed

from your enchanted pen and lips

it is no wonder that ere long

your home became known

as Anne Hathaway’s house

Did she know then?

Did she know that rural life

would never satisfy the man for all ages?

and already his steps were leading 

from Anne Hathaway’s house

Tourists come by coach or car

to wander in the gardens and wonder at the bed

They never hear the footsteps, never see

a young man’s ghost turning down the road

to Anne Hathaway’s house

Local folks glance out their windows

all day long as footsteps trod

across the road that winds its way

through town and countryside

to Anne Hathaway’s house