Vor í Vaglaskógi [English translation]

The night is ours, spring in the wood of skies

We head to the heath with our tent, where the berries grow

Take me, dear friend to the mirth of yesterdays

Where our creek runs free and the birch will blow

Light in the mountains, scent from our dearest fountains

The wind is counting your hair in the light aglow

The dew comes forth, our valley is swept with peace

Our dreams come true, who sleep in the wood of skies

On the berry hearth, the last touch of sunlight dies

And the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow

Light in the mountains, scent from our dearest fountains

The wind is counting your hair in the light aglow

Light in the mountains, scent from our dearest fountains

The wind is counting your hair in the light aglow

The wind is counting your hair