By the day so bright, by the night so dark,
I keep seeking eyes that leave their mark.
Through the summer, autumn, winter’s flame,
Still I wait for you, beloved, by your name.
2
Maybe he will ride to me, my dear,
On a steed with wings so white and clear.
Maybe he will come, so tired, delayed,
Silent wanderer, in shadows laid.
3
Maybe far away he makes his home,
Where my river’s spring begins to roam.
Maybe very near, yet out of sight,
Whom to ask, who’ll guide me right?
4
By the roadside, in the field so free,
Stands a maple, tall and proud to see.
Not like others, different, strong,
To the passers sings its song.
5
That old maple gives replies,
Prophecies and wise advice.
I will ask it, soft and low:
“Where’s my true betrothed, my own?”