To the pigeons

Fly away, beloved pigeons!

I send you forth as messengers;

Tell her, and she will believe you,

That I am sick with love.

You can fly, you can hurry,

Pigeons, merrily up and down the mountains;

I must tarry in this foreign place,

Ever a tormented man.

And my little letter should also go

Today to her, with my love-greeting,

Should seek her among the heights,

By the fair, green river.

Will she finally descend from the mountains

Into the lowlands?

Will she show me the sun,

That disappeared so long ago?

Birds, letters, messages of love,

Song and sighs, tell her clearly:

Search for him in the land of the dead,

My darling, or come quickly!