In the apple tree, the mockingbird will sing her song, for the clouds and trees, the thistles and the rocks to hear. In the highest branch, a perch above the meadowhaze, when the morning breaks, from the garden we can hear her sing, oh!
By the dawn, by the dawn, we hear and see. When the glow of the morn’ lifts up, we’ll wake
No earthly spell holds back the morning song, what lifted sound divides the night and day, oh!
When the sun shines low, and the fog lifts up, the hour will sound.
In the apple tree, a nest is made, a home atop the branches.
By the dawn, by the dawn, we hear and see. When the glow of the morn’ lifts up, we’ll wake, oh!