A pale washerwoman
Otto Vrieslander
A pale washerwoman
Washes faded garments at nighttime.
Naked, silver-white arms
She stretches down into the flood.
Breezes tiptoe through the clearing,
Lightly ruffle the stream.
A pale washerwoman
Washes faded garments at nighttime.
And the gentle maid of heaven,
Softly fondled by the boughs,
Spreads her linen spun from moonbeams
Across the dusky meadows-
A pale washerwoman.