My Love

My love, we will go, we will go, I and you,

And away in the woods, we will scatter the dew;

And the salmon behold, and the ousel too,

My love, we will hear, I and you, we will hear,

The calling afar of the doe and the deer.

And the bird in the branches will cry for us clearly,

And the cuckoo unseen in his festival mood;

And death, oh my fair one, will never come near

In the bosom afar of the fragrant wood.