From the world we both will wander,
All alone and lost we’ll be,
We shall sleep beside the fountain
Springing ’neath the old lime-tree.
And the tree will shed its flowers
On us, far away now borne;
All alone, from distant sheepfolds,
Dreaming we shall hear the horn…
Nearer, always nearer sounding —
Nearer we’ll be arm in arm…
On the waters, in the bowers
Weaves the moon a magic charm.
Soon by horn the wise men’s council,
Called together by the king,
With his whole court’s great assembly,
Cornes around us gathering.
Foaming white the hippocampus,
Diademed the aurochs goes,
Stags with their majestic antlers,
And the nimble mountain roes.
Who we are, they all discuss it,
From the lime-tree ask it now;
And our host then, gently speaking,
With his branches makes a bow:
„See how happy they are dreaming,
In a fairy tale they seem…
See how much they love each other!
’Tis the beech-wood’s blissful dream!“
