When the air sings of summer,
I must wander again.
Sweet landlord is the sky,
rich house is the plain,
and to live is to wander
through the sun and the rain.
When the air sings of summer,
I must wander again.

First you wander in youth and joy
then you’ll wander to still the fears
in an old heart.
First you wander to find your love,
then you’ll wander to hide your tears,
for a wanderer must depart.

When a man owns a house he’s a bird in a cage
whose captivity pain is sweetened with age.
Ah! The sharp joy of freedom
is my loss and my gain.
When the air sings of summer,
I must wander again.