I hear the brooklets rushing

I hear the brooklets rushing

here and there in the wood.

In the wood, amidst the rushing,

I know not where I am.

The nightingales sing

here in the solitude,

as if they wanted to speak

of fine old times.

The moonbeams dart

and I seem to see below me

a castle lying in the valley -

yet it is so far from here!

It seems as if, in the garden

full of roses white and red,

my sweetheart were waiting for me -

yet she is long since dead.