This lovely summer that is past,
this lovely summer that is past,
áde, this lovely summer that is past
I hunted for a little bird.
I hunted it, I yearned for it,
I could not stand it any more,
áde, I put my bird-lime out for it,
and then the bird came close to me.
My joy was such I dearly wished
that I might fly into the air,
áde, that I might fly into the air
and reach out for the sky itself,
and reach out for the sky itself,
and bring an angel back with me,
áde, and bring an angel back with me
and drain the sea until it’s dry.
And drain the sea until it’s dry
and make a garden out of it,
áde, and plant some little lemon trees
and pretty little rose shrubs, too.
I put them in the ground on Monday,
and I prune them all on Tuesday,
áde, on Wednesday they are in leaf,
on Thursday they produce fine apples.
On Friday eve there comes a thief,
who comes to make away with them.
áde, good thief, mind you don’t steal the apples
or dare to nip off all the leaves.
The master’s counted them in fives,
and one by one he’s counted them,
áde, and so in fives and one by one
they’re all recorded in his ledger.
Translated by John Leatham
