Wanderer's song

We have fled the city's throngs,

how differently shines the day here!

How sound in our joyful songs

the calls of lark and quail.

Now we wander and gladly leave

Lord Grumble at home;

a fresh view penetrates the distance

and ever forward.

We wander until the dew of late evening,

we rest until the morning comes again.

One makes camp by a shady spring

where earlier the lively deer has rested;

from cupped hand one drinks the clear,

cool drink, there never was better.

Now we wander and gladly leave

Lord Grumble at home;

a fresh view penetrates the distance

and ever forward.

We wander until the dew of late evening,

we rest until the morning comes again