Thunders along its shores;
And the burn is hard in the grip of the frost,
And white, snow-white are the moors.
Chorus: But soon the birds will begin to sing, etc.
O then the warm west winds will blow,
And all in the sunny weather,
It's over the moorlands we will go,
You and I, my love, together.
Chorus: And then the birds will begin to sing,
And we will sing too, my dear,