Joseph Freiherr von Eichendorff (1788–1857)

DOWN in a cool, green valley

A millwheel goes all day,

And there my love would dally—

Now she is gone away.

She gave a ring for token

And pledged her faith as true:

Her faith—alas!—is broken,

The ring has burst in two.

I’d be a fiddler strolling,

And wander far from home!

My songs forever trolling,

From door to door I’d roam.

I’d be a rider, flying

Into the bloody fight,

By quiet campfires lying

Upon the field at night.

I hear the millwheel going:

I know not what I will—

I wish I might be dying,

Then it would stand quite still.