She stood in the boat and fished,
I watched from the shore:
Into the net the little fish jumped,
As if it were dancing;

None wished to remain in the sea,
And the net was far too small,
She let it fall,
And thought, It must be so.

She climbed out of her boat,
And stood awhile on the beach,
The sea swelled and tossed,
As if it wished to go with her;
And shells and corals
It left behind for her:
She picked them off the ground
And thought, It must be so.

Poor shepherd boy that I am,
What profit would there be to woo her
With flowers and ribbons?
The world belongs to her,
Every heart beats for her,
And if they were made of stone,
She’d take it like the roar of the waves,
And think, It must be so.

If I could even bring her
The silver light of the stars,
The evening blue of heaven,
It wouldn’t impress (be anything new).
She would hold it to her eye,
And would say: “It’s mine!”
She’d forget to thank me
And would think, It must be so.

What use is your foolish tinkling,
My little lyre?
Even if her window were open,
She wouldn’t hear you very well,
For the horns or pipes, 
For the flutes and the shawms;
She dances her dance to those,
And thinks, It must be so.