By the pond a maiden sat
one summer evening, watching
her own reflection in the water.
"Oh, God, what good to me
is beauty when the boy I love
sees me not, hears me not?

Rose blossoming at my side,
take the redness from my lips.
Purple coloured cloud,
take the crimson from my cheeks.
The pale star above the cloud,
take the brightness from my eyes.
Lastly, oh grave, take all that remains."

All this heard the roguish boy,
hiding in the bush.
The one that was sought, the one
that is found, he runs to her.

But he kissed her lips:
"Now the rose the redness from
her lips has taken."
And he puts his cheek to hers:
"Gone with the cloud is now
the cheek's crimson."
And he looked into her eyes:
"Now the star shines
with the eyes' brightness."
And he threw her arms around her:
"Now the grave holds what remains!
Because, o maiden,
it is the grave that lets no one go."

(trans. Johanna Karlsson)