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Pod wašjmi okny.
The stream 'neath your window
Pursues its calm course;
Then come my beloved,
And water my horse.
"Nay! nay!" said the maid,
"I am but a poor child,
And I am afraid."
There grows near your window,
A green olive tree!
And let me, sweet maiden!
Partake it with thee.
"Nay! nay!" said the maid
"I’m but a poor child,
And I am afraid."
There blooms near your window,
How many a rose!
And why art thou mourning
Thy premature woes?
