|
Swift flies the falcon, |
|
To the thick-wooded forest in the north. |
|
While I do not see my husband, |
|
My heart cannot forget its grief. |
|
How is it, how is it, |
|
That he forgets me so very much? |
|
On the mountain are the bushy oaks; |
|
In the low wet grounds are six elms. |
|
While I do not see my husband, |
|
My sad heart has no joy. |
|
How is it, how is it, |
|
That he forgets me so very much? |
|
On the mountain are the bushy sparrow-plums; |
|
In the low wet grounds are the high, wild pear trees. |
|
While I do not see my husband, |
|
My heart is as if intoxicated with grief. |
|
How is it, how is it, |
|
That he forgets me so very much? |