Pid oblachkom yavir pochylenyi
Na nim sydyt ptashok premylenyi.
Chuyesh, mylyi, yak toy ptashok spivat,
Ze z lyubovy nych dobra ne byvat.

Cy ta lyubost yest od Boha dana,
A chy moze d'yablom pidsheptana,
Choc by ne chtiv, to musysh lyubyty,
Choc by ne chtiv, a musysh terpity.

My vorozka davno vorozyla,
Ze mya zhubyt chlopec chornobryvyi,
Ze ne budu vydit' za nym svita,
Az promynut moyi mlady lita.

Pid oblachkom yavir zeleniye,
Chuyesh, mylyi, yak tot viter viye,
Moze vyrve yoho z korenyamy,
Oy miy mylyi, shto z to bude z namy.