My good, noble Siegebert.
When'er Death from here should take me,
I could never hope to find him;
And for him my heart is yearning.
In the woods I must be buried,
Where the mandrake grows 'neath fir-trees
Which with mistletoe are covered.
I don't wish a cross on my grave,
Shall not envy it to others."
On that very day, however,