As the day grows dark and cold,
Its arms keep me warm;
And as the day grows old,
Its dancing keeps me young.
Yet as the sky grows dark
My world is filled with night.

The world is black as night
Beneath the arms of cold.
Yet even in the cold and black,
Its arms will keep me warm.
Beside it I feel young
Because the tree is old.

Even when I am tired and old,
Even in the dark that is night,
Even when my children are young,
I will brave winter’s biting cold
To find haven in a tree that’s warm
And filled with light that hides the black.

And as the world is filled with black,
And as the tree is worn and old,
And though the day is pleasantly warm,
The tree has seen days as dark as night,
And men whose hearts and hard and cold.
So it weeps for both the old and the young.

Though it is old, the tree is young.
It weeps for the days that are cold and black.
Its arms wave as it shivers in the cold,
As though they were dancing, worn and old.
In a world that is often blacker than night,
Its branches give a haven, happy and warm.

When I visit this place, I am happy and warm.
When I visit this place, I remember my young
Children, afraid of the darkness and night.
I remember the world that is dark and black,
That does not care for the old,
Filled with men whose hearts are cold.

The feeling of cold, and the feeling of warm.
Though it’s very old, the willow is young;
It weeps in the black and evil of night.