"Her beauty is not like to yours
But secret lore she knows,
She makes the snow, she makes the hail,
She makes the wind that blows.
"She makes the wind that blows so free,
She makes the snow so fine,
At midnight hour, within her bower,
She makes the sun to shine.
"She makes the sun to shine again
At midnight in her bower,
And on the borders of the sea
Makes rosemary to flower."
Sur la feuille ron… don don don,
Sur la joli', joli' feuille ronde.
