243
Cekánj
Gak se ten mēsjček.
Now the moon is rising
O'er the forest trees,
Fain would I inform me
Where my lover is:
For he made me promise,
Ere the moon should smile,
Here to wait his coming—
What a weary while!
All the cows—I've milk'd them—
O, the ling'ring hour:
I have wreath'd the arbor
With each fragrant flower.
M 2
