The snow it lies white on Blaeberry Mountain,
Gathering clouds hang heavy with rain.
Tell me, my friend, will it ever be summer?
And will the sun ripen the berries again?
Refrain:
So come, come again, Blaeberry
Sunday!
Ring, ring out the fiddler�s tune!
Laughter of children picking
the berries.
Young lovers dancing under the moon,
Young lovers dancing under
the moon.
Once long ago on a Sunday in August
People would gather from far and from near,
Meeting and greeting old friends and
neighbours,
And feasting and dancing and drinking good
cheer.
Refrain:
So come, come again, Blaeberry
Sunday! etc
Sometimes at night when the moon�s softly
shining,
Shadowy figures appear on the hill.
I hear the echo of far-away music,
And the murmur of voices
that long have been still.
Refrain:
So come, come again, Blaeberry
Sunday! etc
The snow it lies white on
Gathering clouds hang heavy with rain.
Tell me, my friend, will it ever be summer?
And will the sun ripen the berries again?