Oft as I ask, ‘Where goes she?’ ‘To the valley.’
‘Whence comes she?’ ‘From the valley.’ ‘What is there?’
‘The youth has made in it a garden for her.’
What! is that garden fairer than my orchards?
(For Kiejstut owned proud orchards full of apples
And pears, allurement of the Kowno damsels.)
’Tis not the garden lures her. I have marked
Her windows in the winter; all the panes
Which look on Niemen clear are as in May;
The frost has not obscured the crystal glass.