Cold Blows the West Wind

Cold blows the west wind
Far off in the frosty air
The wild geese call
In the morning moonlight.
In the morning moonlight.
Horses' hooves ring out sharply
And the bugle's note is muted.
Do not say that the pass is defended with iron.
This very day we shall cross over it.
We shall cross over it.
The hills are blue like the sea,
And the dying sun is like blood.