Moveth thee;
Nor the wind's wild chase,
As yesterday, calling thee,
Even as I, in vain.
Come--wake up, Gerda!
Come out and play in the lane!

See! the wind,
From behind,
Sporteth with thy locks,
From the land's
Desert sands
And the sea-beat rocks
Cometh and claspeth thy hands,
Even as I, in vain.
Come--wake up, Gerda!
Come out and play in the lane!

Closed thine eyes,
Gently wise,
Dost thou dream the while?
Falls my kiss
All amiss,
Waketh not a smile!
Sweet mouth, is't feigning this?
Then do not longer feign.
Come--wake up, Gerda!
Come out and play in the lane!

Forehead Bold,