I'm waiting by my log fire while the hours fly by,

while the stars during countless nights fly in a spry,

I'm waiting for a woman from routes afar -

the one putting my doubts and fears on par.


I imagined a wandering snowy flower

and dreamed of a tremulous, mocking laughter,

I hoped I would see my beloved come this hour,

through woods, across moors a snowy night so sought after.


Happily, I wanted my dream to hands bear

through the brush over there where my cabin stands mere;

and raising a joyful shout to the lady:

Welcome you, without you, everything has been so hazy!


I'm waiting by my kiln hours while suffering

while the woods singing and the skies go.

I'm waiting for a wanderer from routes far to show -

my beloved, the love who about I am stuttering.