Old Win-ter is blow-ing his gusts a-long,
And mer-ri-ly shak-ing the tree:
From morn-ing to night he will sing us his song,
Now moan-ing and short, now bold-ly and long;
His voice it is loud, for his lungs are so strong,
And a mer-ry old fel-low is he.
Old Win-ter's a rough old chap to some,
As rough as ev-er you'll see.
"I with-er the flow-ers when-ev-er I come,
I qui-et the brook that went laugh-ing a-long,