Death blows upon his pipe of bone;
A pale shepherd leaning against the churchyard wall,
He guards the silent flock; quietly, yearningly
Death begins his lonely song.
Moonlight flows over the broad area,
Restively the meadow suddenly breaks out,
Like lamenting tears that no one quiets;
Ah! how it now shrills wildly and gruesomely,
Like tortured sighing in the universe,
Like the wailing of a soul in a fevered dream,
Thus [now]1 the dance of death howls and rings out!
Before which the trees bow down tremblingly,
Before which the flowers hide their faces,
Before which the worm withdraws fearfully into the soil.
Those of you who are sleepless, those who are sick, shut your ears
To the song of the musician by the gate of the churchyard,
Your heart shall die, your blood shall freeze,
You wakeful ones, you sick ones, beware!

Hark, the flute laments again
and the cool springs murmur;
golden, the sounds waft down -
be still, be still, let us listen.

Lovely supplication, gentle longing,
how sweetly it speaks to the heart!
Through the night that enfolds me
shines the light of the music.

The sounds of harps and flutes must ring out,
Today I shall win a jubilant happiness,
A very young miss shall become my bride,
You have never seen anyone so wondrously pretty,
Red as a pomegranate blossom and white as snow,
As delicate as the flower fairy in the tale.
Her eyes, as merry and clear as a water-spring,
Are likely already looking out for me; only make haste, ah make haste!
The sounds of harps and flutes must ring out,
Look how my grey horse is already prancing and leaping,
How its ribbons are fluttering rosy red,
My dear horse shall be fed only red clover today.
Today is a festival, a festival in May,
Spring and sunshine beckon laughingly.
Harps and flutes, arise and resound before me!
Grey horse, onward, the wedding journey commences!