I went along the path, which lay there secluded,
I walk it every day, and always alone.
The heath keeps silence, the field is deserted;
only the wind blows around me in the thicket.

The road lies far ahead of me;
my heart has longed only for you, only you.
If you came, it would be a miracle to me,
I bowed to you: I love you.

And in this meeting just one look
would mean the fate of my entire life.
If you directed your eye to me coldly,
I would resist, my maiden: I love you. 

But if your beautiful eye greeted and laughed,
like a sun to me in heavy night,
I'd quickly pull your sweet heart to me
and softly whisper: I love you.

On the way home from the dance hall
The lovely Margret
Rests upon the stone.
She loosens her tight bodice a little
So that the cool night-wind may
Waft over her white limbs.

[Along the same road]1 comes as well a young squire
With baubles on his hat and many fibs,
And sees the stone,
And upon the stone, the [picture-perfect]2 child;
And as rapid as lightning
Something comes to his mind.

The dear maiden had been sleeping,
But as the squire's eyes fell upon her,
She awoke.
At first she screams and wants to run off over the fields;
I think we shall leave the two of them alone
In the summer night.

The autumn wind shakes the linden-tree;
how quickly the world moves on!
Hold your dear child warm.
The summer has passed
when we were together -
alas, how poor they are who love each other!

How poor they are who love each other and part!
This we have both experienced;
I shudder at the silent house.
You still wave your handkerchief,
I can hardly see it for tears,
and silently gaze out into the alley.

The streets still look nocturnal,
the coach rattles cautiously -
then suddenly quicker the pace
through the gate to the quiet of the fields,
the woods greet so gamely -
daughter dear, travel with god!