De Dag geiht to Rauh,
Op’t Gras liggt de Dau,
De Wulken ann Häben wardt rood.
Dat’s Allens so still,
Ik wäät ni wa’ ’k will,
Ik lööv’, mi is truri’ to Mod’.

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 Foss bruut int Moor,
Un wiet in de Feern schallt Gesang.
Mien Hart stiggt tohög’,
Ik wäät ni’, wa’ ’k sehg’,
De Traan’n loopt de Backen hentlang.

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.

Daar achter de Weid’,
Wiet œver de Heid’,
Daar schimmert ann Himmel en Mœhl:
Dat is mi, as weer
Ik daar vör de Dœr,
Un seet op’n Mœhlnbarg un spääl.

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 sehg’ daar Een rut,
Den kenn ik so gut,
Den seet ik so oft op’n Schoot;
De Steen leep un klung,
De Mann seet un sung,
Ann Häben de Wulken weern rood.

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 wäät, ob de Ol’ daar noch steiht?
De Luch is so luri’, –
Dat Leed is so truri’:
Gottloov, dat de Mœhl doch noch geiht!

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!