Head of green tresses
And maiden breast,
Why on the pond, birch,
Your gaze do you rest?
What does the wind whisper,
Sand intone?
In your braid-boughs will you
Set a moon-comb?
Your secret wood-thoughts
Disclose to me!
I love your sad tones
On autumn eve.
"Curious friend," in reply
The birch said,
"Tears here by starlight
A shepherd shed.
"The moon cast shadows
Beneath green trees.
He held me, clasping
My bare knees.
"And sighed, as my branches
Rustled above:
Till next year's cranes come
Farewell, my love!'"