Your white grave near,
The same song sung bell
two hearts, whose life was
In winter day light blossomed garden.
All said another glance,
everyone was waiting for. But that's because of the angle
He swept the deadly arrow,
Fatal engorged venom.
Sleep Well you, whose life is rich garden
In winter day, in the snow, blossomed…
The same song you are sending a bell,
Your white grave – beside.
Weisser Hirsch, summer 1910