On the heath, there blooms a little flower,
And it's called:
Hot from a hundred thousands little bees,
Swarming around,
Because her heart is full of sweetness;
Delicate scents escape its flowery dress!
On the heath, there blooms a little flower,
And it's called:
At home lives a little maiden,
And she's called:
This girl is my faithful little treasure,
And my happiness;
When the heather blooms red-purple,
I sing this song to greet her!
On the heath, there blooms a little flower,
And it's called:
In my little room there also blooms a little flower,
And it's called:
Already in the gray of morning, like at dusk,
It looks at me,
And then it's to me as if it's speaking aloud:
"Are you also thinking of your little bride?"
At home a maiden cries for you,
And it's called:
