The elder la** walked out alone
In the quiet mists of morning.
The fields were black as the blackest stone
and the springtime was a coming
She dipped her hand into a stream
In the quiet mists of morning.
To look on how the elders leaned
And the springtime were a coming
She met a gently smiling man
In the quiet mists of morning.
He took her softly by the hand
and the springtime were a flowering
They lay them down in the birchwood glade
In the quiet mists of morning.
She were going to be no more a maid
and the summertime were a coming
He took her up and held her there
In the quiet mists of morning.
She were a bird he were a star
And the summer were a blazing
And when she thought to look at him
In the quiet mists of morning.
She held an oak tree in her hand
And the winter snows were falling