A lamb walks there with curly bell,
On each curl point tinkles a bell.
The wild duck broods in the reedy grass,
In the meadow rich ripens the corn,
But the place where lives a faithful lass
I never have found since I was born.
In the lonesome night the stars are falling,
The young man drags his feet toward the house.
Heavy in his heart are voices calling,
And hatred of the world his miseries arouse.