146
POEMS OF GOETHE
MILLER'S DAUGHTER
By this rake, sir, 'tis shown
That we're making the hay;
And the pears ripen fast
In the garden at last,
So I'll pick them to-day.
PAGE.
Is't a silent thicket I yonder view?
MILLER'S DAUGHTER
Oh, yes! there are two;
There's one on each side.
PAGE.
I'll follow thee soon;
When the sun burns at noon,
We'll go there, ourselves from his rays to hide,
And then in some glade all-verdant and deep—
MILLER'S DAUGHTER
Why, people would say—
PAGE.
Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Your pardon, I pray!
Whoever is kissed by the miller-maid,
Upon the spot must needs be betrayed.
'Twould give me distress
To cover with white
Your pretty dark dress.
