BLAEBERRY SUNDAY

 

The snow it lies white on Blaeberry Mountain,

Gathering clouds hang heavy with rain.

Tell me, my friend, will it ever be summer?

And will the sun ripen the berries again?

 

Refrain:

So come, come again, Blaeberry Sunday!

Ring, ring out the fiddler’s tune!

Laughter of children picking the berries.

Young lovers dancing under the moon,

Young lovers dancing under the moon.

 

Once long ago on a Sunday in August

People would gather from far and from near,

Meeting and greeting old friends and neighbours,

And feasting and dancing and drinking good cheer.

 

Refrain:

So come, come again, Blaeberry Sunday! etc

 

Sometimes at night when the moon’s softly shining,

Shadowy figures appear on the hill.

I hear the echo of far-away music,

And the murmur of voices that long have been still.

 

Refrain:

So come, come again, Blaeberry Sunday! etc

 

The snow it lies white on Blaeberry Mountain,

Gathering clouds hang heavy with rain.

Tell me, my friend, will it ever be summer?

And will the sun ripen the berries again?

 


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