A song of the joy of living,
As clear as a bugle play
When the springtide rises highest,
And the winter is far away.

It throbs with the wild, wide freedom
Of the green world out of doors,
And thrills with the lyric gladness
Of the skylark when he soars.

In the forest I've heard espousals
As plainly as spoken words;
For this is the mating season
And the marriage morn of birds.

There's a passion universal
That cannot be thrust aside,
And it moves the deeps of being
As the round moon lifts the tide.

Ever recurring in springtime,
When the heart is hopeful and strong,
So is its meaning translated
Into a jubilant song.

A song of the joy of living-
Ere the winter night shall fall;
O, men and maidens, sing it,
O sing it, lovers all!