In the glad springtime when leaves were green, O merrily the throstle sings! I sought, amid the tangled sheen, Love whom mine eyes had never seen, O the glad dove has golden wings!
Between the blossoms red and white, O merrily the throstle sings! My love first came into my sight, O perfect vision of delight, O the glad dove has golden wings!
The yellow apples glowed like fire. O merrily the throstle sings! O Love too great for lip or lyre, Blown rose of love and of desire, O the glad dove has golden wings!
But now with snow the tree is grey, Ah, sadly now the throstle sings!