if deceiving me, o love, thou wert;
if deceiving me despite thy vow;
yet chant thy praise i ever will,
tho’ deceiving me, o love, thou wert.
o king! i am the sorrowful one,
and the love of the earl a-hurting me;
the tears are ever running from mine eyes,
and my heart is bruised with the sting of thy love.
last night i was with thee in my dream,
across in jura of the cold bens;
thy kisses were like the green water-cresses
– fled the dream – remained the pain.
come, o love, and close my eyes
in the narrow kirst where i shall never awake;
lay me down under earth from jura –
in the grave alone is there rest for me.