Se keem ant Bett inn Dodenhemd
   un harr en Licht in Hand,
Se weer noch witter as er Hemd
   un as de witte Wand.

She came to his bedside wearing her shroud
   and held in her hand a light.
She was even whiter than her shroud
   and the whitewashed wall, that white.

So keem se langsam langs de Stuv
   un fat an de Gardin,
Se lücht un keek em int Gesich
   un læhn sik æwerhin.

This is how she slowly crossed the floor
   and gently touched the curtain.
She shone the light in his face some more,
   bent down as if to be certain.

Doch harr se Mund un Ogen to,
   de Bossen stunn er still,
Se röhr keen Lid un seeg doch ut
   as Een de spreken will.

Yet her mouth was shut, shut too her eyes
   and motionless her breast.
She moved no lid, yet you’d surmise
   that speaking was her quest.

Dat Gresen krop em langs den Rügg
   un Schuder dær de Hut,
He meen he schreeg in Dodesangst,
   un broch keen Stimm herut.

Down his spine and skin crept terror sheer
   and hard his heart did pound.
He meant to scream in mortal fear
   but could not make a sound.

He meen he greep mit beide Hann’
   un wehr sik vær den Dod,
Un föhl mank alle Schreckensangst,
   he röhr ni Hand noch Fot.

He tried to move with all his might
   to ward off his demise,
But in his horror, dread and fright
   his limbs just would not rise.

Doch as he endli to sik keem,
   do gung se jüs ut Dær,
As Krid so witt, in Dodenhemd,
   un lücht sik langsam vær.

But once he managed to prevail
   she had reached the door from his bed,
As white as chalk, wearing her veil,
   lighting the gloom ahead.