Summer evening

The mother:

Go to sleep, daughter, sleep!

Already the dew is falling on the grass,

And whomever the drops touch,

soon weeps his eyes wet!

The daughter:

Let him cry, Mother, let him cry!

The moon shines brightly,

And whomever the beams shine upon,

shall quickly dry his tears!

The mother:

Go to sleep, daughter, sleep!

Already the screech owl is calling in the forest,

And whoever hears those tones

must soon lament with it!

The daughter:

Let him lament, Mother, let him lament!

The nightingale sings brightly,

And the one for whom those songs are sung

shall soon lose his sadness!