De Dag geit to Rau,
Opt Gras liggt de Dau,
De Wulken ann Heben ward roth.
Dats Allens so still,
Ik weet ni wa’k will,
Ik löv, mi is truri to Moth.

The day’s turning in.
Dew’s covering the grass.
The clouds in the sky are turning red.
Everything is so still!
I don’t know what to do.
I guess I’m in a somber mood.

De Pock quarkt int Rohr,
De Voss bru’t int Moor,
Un wit inne Feern schallt Gesank.
Min Hart stiggt to Höch,
Ik weet ni, wa’k seeg,
De Thran lopt de Backen hentlank.

Frogs croak among the reeds,
Foxes banter on the moor,
And singing is heard from afar.
My heart takes a leap,
My eyesight’s a blur,
And tears are streaming down my cheeks.

Dar achter de Weid
Wit æwer de Heid
Dar schimmert ann Himmel en Mæl:
Dat is mi, as weer
Ik dar vær de Dær,
Un seet oppen Mælnbarg un spel.

Beyond the paddock,
Far across the heath,
A windmill is shimmering in the sky.
It’s as though I were
Right in front of its door,
Sitting and playing on its hill.

Denn seeg dar Een rut,
Den kenn ik so gut,
Den seet ik so oft oppen Schot;
De Steen leep un klung,
De Mann seet un sung,
Ann Heben de Wulken weern roth.

Then I see someone there.
I know him so well,
Have sat on his lap many times.
The grinding stone was ringing.
The man sat there singing.
The clouds in the sky had turned all red.

Do weer ik noch kleen,
Nu bün ik alleen,
Wull weet, ob de Ol dar noch steit?
De Luch is so luri, –
Dat Leed is so truri:
Gottlof, dat de Mæl doch noch geit!

I was little then,
And now I’m alone.
Who knows if the old man is still there?
The air is so balmy.
The song is so sad.
Thank God, the mill’s still running there!