Clouds of Clover (Konjuszynowi chmary)

From the spirit night,
From The Fields of Lite,
From the misty smoke –
To the pretty home.

From the tears of life,
From the sorrow days,
From the nervous days,
To the mountains shine.
Oh, shine! (2)

Pryspiw:
Aha... Clouds of clover! (4)

I will come to you,
I will run with you,
Thru the rainy day,
To the mountains way.

From the tears of life,
From the sorrow days,
From the nervous days,
To the mountains shine.
Oh, shine! (2)

Pryspiw