He fell and died for the fatherland,
A sweet death in the battle for liberation,
We bury him with a faithful hand,
Deep, deep in the black peaceful shaft.

Sleep there, broken bones!
Where pain and pleasure once lodged
A deadly shot of lead burst rudely in
And broke the defiance of a heroic breast.

Sleep there and be calm, torn heart,
Once so rich in desires, on the flowers there
Which we collected in violet rich March
And have strewn in your cool trench.

A mound is being raised over you.
No marble monument will be imprinted there;
We shall just plant some rosemary - 
A small plant on the mound.

As it germinates and becomes green it will be sadly beautiful,
Fertilized by your faithful blood.
A girl can be seen going to the grave
Gently singing songs of love.

Anyone who does not know the grave, does not know
How he loved her quietly and devotedly,
He who allows her to make a wreath from
The rosemary; he gives it to her and she turns it into a bridal garland.