THE PAGE AND THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
WHERE goest thou? Where?
Miller's daughter so fair!
Thy name, pray?--
Where goest thou? Where?
With the rake in thy hand?
Father's meadows and land
To visit, I'm busy.
Dost go there alone?
By this rake, sir, 'tis shown
That we're making the hay;
And the pears ripen fast
In the garden at last,
So I'll pick them to-day.
Is't a silent thicket I yonder view?
Oh, yes! there are two;
There's one on each side.
I'll follow thee soon;
When the sun burns at noon
We'll go there, o'urselves from his rays to hide,
And then in some glade all-verdant and deep--
Why, people would say--
Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.
Your pardon, I pray!
Whoever is kiss'd by the miller-maid,
Upon the spot must needs be betray'd.
'Twould give me distress
To cover with white
Your pretty dark dress.
Equal with equal! then all is right!
That's the motto in which I delight.
I am in love with the miller-boy;
He wears nothing that I could destroy.