At breakfast sitting one morning,
his young wife he begins asking:

“My darling, my dear beloved,
you have always been straightforward,

you have always been straightforward;
one thing though you did not confide:

We've been together two years now;
there’s just one thing I need to know.

My darling, o my life’s delight,
please tell me how you sleep at night.

Fresh, in good health, going to bed,
in the night your body lies dead.

You make no sound, you never stir,
no sign of your spirit is there.

Your body is cold, cold as frost,
as though ready to turn to dust.

Not even your own little child
wakes you, eyes with bitter tears filled.

My darling, beloved princess,
have you succumbed to some illness?

If some illness is what is wrong,
may some wise counsel come along.

In the field many herbs are found;
perchance one such may bring you round.

But if herbs are of no avail,
a mighty word will then prevail.

A mighty word will storms abate,
to save ships from a sorry fate.

A mighty word puts a fire out,
crushes rocks, a dragon can rout.

It plucks from the sky a bright star,
a mighty word and healed you are.”

“Oh no, my dear, oh no, my dear,
do not heed idle speech you hear.

What was predetermined at birth,
for that there is no cure on earth.

What your inborn fate has laid down
cannot be changed by anyone.

Though I lie lifeless on my bed,
yet I’m in the power of God,

always in the power of God;
he keeps me safe asleep in bed.

Although I sleep as dead at night,
break of day sets my spirit right.

Every morning I’m well again,
for the Lord God does so ordain.”

Dear lady, your words are in vain,
these thoughts your man won’t entertain.

By the fireside sits his mother,
from bowl to bowl pouring water,

twelve bowls all standing in a row;
her son comes for some advice now.

“Listen, mother, you know much more,
you know all that fate has in store,

you know why people become ill,
where the grim reaper makes his kill.

Tell me now, swear it on your life,
what is happening to my wife.

Fresh, in good health, going to bed,
in the night her body lies dead.

She makes no sound, never does stir,
no sign of her spirit is there.

Her body is cold, cold as frost,
as though ready to turn to dust.”

How then can she truly survive
if she’s but half the time alive?

In daytime she lives with you, see;
at night, her soul lives in a tree.”

“Seek the stream in the field below,
there, with white bark, find a willow,

yellow branches growing thereon;
they and your dear wife’s soul are one.”

“Of my dear wife I did not know
she was to live with a willow;

may my wife live only with me;
and earth consume the willow tree.”

He shouldered an axe and went out,
chopped down the willow at its root;

it fell heavily in the stream,
murmuring below, making foam.

it foamed and it heaved a deep sigh,
like a mother about to die,

like a mother before she died,
concerned for her poor little child.

“Who is that rushing to my home?
Who is the bell tolling for, whom?”

“Your dear wife, your dear wife has died,
as though cut down by a scythe’s blade;

going about her work, quite well,
she died, like a tree woodsmen fell;

she heaved a sigh before she died,
concerned for her poor little child.”

“Oh woe is me, oh woe, oh woe,
I killed my wife, I did not know,

at the same time our little child
all because of me was orphaned.

O willow tree, o white willow,
why have you dealt me this sad blow?

You took half of my life away;
what shall I do with you now, pray?”

“From the water let them take me,
cut yellow branches from my tree;

cut from them narrow planks of wood,
make a cradle—that will be good;

in the cradle lay the dear child,
for then his crying will be stilled.

When he is rocked in the cradle
that will be his mother’s cuddle.

Plant twigs near the bank of the stream,
to be sure he comes to no harm.

When the little boy grows, anon,
flutes from branches he will fashion;

and, as to the flute’s tune he sings,
relate to his mother all things.”