Still as ünnern warme Dek
liggt dat Dörp in witten Snee,
mank de Ellern slöppt de Bek,
ünnern Is de blanke See.

As if warmly nestled in rest and ease,
Lies the village all covered with snow.
The rivulet sleeps among alder-trees,
Under ice the ocean’s glow.

Wicheln stat in witte Haar,
spegelt slapri all de Köpp,
all is ruhi, kold un klar
as de Dod, de ewi slöppt.

Willows stand there, all white their hair,
Sleepy heads mirrored on ice-crusted deep.
All is quiet and cold under austere glare
Like death, that endless sleep.

Wit, so wit de Ogen reckt,
nich en Leben, nich en Lut;
blau na’n blauen Heben treckt
sach de Rok nan Snee herut.

Far, as far as you can see with bare eyes,
There’s no life, not a single sound.
Only one blue column of smoke does rise,
Gently floating blue-heaven-bound.

Ik much slapen, as de Bom,
sünner Weh un sünner Lust;
doch dar treckt mi as in Drom
still de Rok to Hus.

I yearn to sleep, yearn to sleep like the tree:
Without sorrow, without delight.
But the column of smoke ... It beckons me
Back home, as in a dream walk at night.