A land whose garment's shabby, a land whose feet are bare,
You are the apple of my eye by morning and by night,
Oh, let me hear your music, my own beloved bride,
Open up the portals, and I'll give thanks inside.
Within the shaded forest where sun can never reach,
We'll put down roots together into the earth beneath,
Into the wells of beauty, the fountains clean and pure,
My homeland ever humble, a nomad proud and poor.
They'll never cease, your wonders,
Your song remains, I know,
My heart is at your mercy,
And whispers soft and low:
My own little land, you are mine,
You are my sister, my own,
You and you alone,
All that is left.
The fragrance of the village to our robes will cling,
The sheep bells in the meadow within our hearts will ring.
And in the peaceful twilight
with one soft ray of light,
We'll stroll as joyful lovers, we'll walk with naked feet.
They'll never cease, your wonders...