At my father’s hill
There stands a lovely tree:
The feathered creatures of the forest sing gladly
At my father’s hill,
And sing me many a dream.

  One rests upon soft grass
Set alight by a trembling radiance;
The sheep and lambs are grazing;
One rests upon soft grass
And looks out over the field.

  In [the green-vaulted foliage]1,
The sun shone so warmly!
I eavesdropped on my dove,
In [the green-vaulted foliage]1,
And in the joyful swarm of insects.

  Then he came, blushing,
Through the high grass;
I [had not asked]2 him to come:
There he came, blushing,
Certainly quite by chance.

  Confidingly he lowered himself
To sit beside me upon the soft grass
My bodice grew so tight!
Confidingly he lowered himself,
And spoke, I know not what.

  He would gladly have stayed;
But I told him to go.
I believe he spoke of loving:
He would gladly have stayed,
And he flattered so beguilingly.

  Since yesterday how desolate
I find the place in the soft grass!
Distract me with a story, dear sisters!
Since yesterday how desolate
I find the place where he sat!