My slumber grows ever more peaceful

My slumber grows ever more peaceful;

and only like a thin veil now does my anxiety

lie trembling upon me.

Often in my dreams I hear you

calling outside my door;

no one is awake to let you in,

and I wake up and weep bitterly.

Yes, I will have to die;

another will you kiss,

when I am pale and cold.

Before the May breezes blow,

before the thrush sings in the forest:

if you wish to see me once more,

come, o come soon!