Oh Death, it is the cold, cold night

Oh, death it is the cold, cold night,

And life it is the sultry day;

'Tis growing dusk, I am drowsy--

The long, long day has tired me quite.

Over my bed there arches a tree;

There sings the early nightingale--

She sings of love all the livelong night;

Her song comes even in my dreams to me.