Cold blows the wintry east, the west, The drift is thrive and sail away,
Say, loo'd and shrouds I hear the blast, I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Up in the mornin's lullaby, up in the mornin' airy,
When all the hills are covered with snow, I'm sure it's winter fairly.
. . .
. . .
The birds say, check an ember fire, A day they fear but sparely,
And lines the next fainty morn, I'm sure it's winter fairly.
Up in the mornin's lullaby, up in the mornin' airy,
When all the hills are covered with snow, I'm sure it's winter fairly.
. . .
