1.
When at evening in the forest,
In the dreamlike wood I rove,
Ever doth thy slender figure
Close beside me softly move.
See I not thy gentle features?
Is it not thy veil that stirs?
Can it be the moonlight only
Breaking through the gloomy firs?
Can it be mine own tears only
That I hear all-lightly flow?
Or my loved one, dost thou really
Close beside me weeping go?