The birch tree and the maiden

Lightly waveth the birch tree

When the glad day is dying,

And the soft wind seeks to woo her

Through her branches sighing.

Sadly sighs and weeps the maiden.

Hot and bitter tears are falling.

Why delayeth my lover?

Comes he not at my calling?

Now the winter returneth,

And the leaves are dying,

And no longer through the birch tree

Is the soft wind sighing.

And the maiden, with the winter's returning,

Yes, the maiden has forgotten her weeping,

Gives her heart newly kindled

To a new lover's keeping.