I have found a maiden,
gentle, precious, German and good;
her glance is mild and bright
like the glow of the evening sun;
her hair is like summer ,
and her eyes are violet-blue.
From lips like rosy chalices
songs flow like dew.

Her build is tall and majestic.
Her stature is like the beauty 
of the slender birches deep in the forest,
her bosom as pure white as a swan's.
In that lofty swan-bosom
there throbs a fine heart
that knows nothing of obligation or caprice,
nothing of impudent joy or pain.

In the green wilderness of Dustra
by the clear Rinval river,
alone and forlorn,
the feet of the lovely maiden stray.
She wanders about, a wreath
decorating her hair. Adorning
her lofty bosom is a bunch of flowers
she has picked in the dew.

I have found the maiden.
In a chaste morning gown
she walked with the scent of early morning
by Rinval's flowery banks.
A gentle breeze curled
her wavy, flowing hair,
and through the alders
her little song echoed sweet and clear.

I lay among the sweet-smelling clover
by the blue-flowering brook;
I trembled as I gazed after
the noble maiden.
Tarry, tarry, you lovely one!
Your gaze is dear and good.
I am also German and noble,
a lad pious and good.

She turned, she paused,
and beckoned kindly to me;
here gaze and gesture were happy
and I flew to her with delight,
standing sublime and divine
before me was the noble woman.
But I curled my arm confidently
about her body.

I led the noble maiden
by the hand;
I strolled with her by the embankment
of the brook.
I have won her love,
and I know she is well mine,
and therefore let this song be hers
her very own life and property.