Now we are come to the cold time
when the ice and the snow and the mud
and the birds’ beaks are mute
and the hedge-branches are dry
no leaf nor bud sprouts up,
nor cries the nightingale
whose song awakens me in May.
Ar em al freg temps vengut
quel gels el neus e la fainga
el aucellet estan mut,
c'us de chanter non s'afrainga;
e son sec li ram pels plais —
que flors ni foilla noi nais
ni rossignols non i crida,
que l'am e mai me reissida.
quel gels el neus e la fainga
el aucellet estan mut,
c'us de chanter non s'afrainga;
e son sec li ram pels plais —
que flors ni foilla noi nais
ni rossignols non i crida,
que l'am e mai me reissida.