Or when thou playest in the morning light?
And realy holdest thou no memory,
Which now and then could somehow trouble thee?
Wouldst thou be happier if thou shared’st thy life
With a merry traveler and wast his wife?
My dear, we would be hiking all day long,
Thy hardships I would sweeten with a song;
I’d be the first in every rivulet
To find some little stones therein and let
Thy feet, untouched by water, feel the sand.