Still as ünner ’n warme Dääk
liggt dat Dörp in witten Snee.
Mank de Ellern slöppt de Bääk,
ünner’n Ies de blanke See.

As if warmly nestled in rest and ease,
Lies the village all covered with snow.
The rivulet sleeps among alder-trees,
Under ice the ocean’s glow.

Wicheln staht in witte Haar,
spegelt slaapri’ all de Köpp.
All is ruhi’, kold un klaar
as de Dood, de ewi’ slöppt.

Willows stand there, all white their hair,
Sleepy heads mirrored on ice-crusted deep.
All is quiet and cold under austere glare
Like death, that endless sleep.

Wied, so wied de Ogen reckt,
nich ’n Läben, nich ’n Luud.
Blau na’n blauen Häben treckt
sach de Rook na’n Snee herut.

Far, as far as you can see with bare eyes,
There’s no life, not a single sound.
Only one blue column of smoke does rise,
Gently floating blue-heaven-bound.

Ik much slapen, as de Boom,
sünner Weh un sünner Lust.
Doch daar treckt mi as in’n Droom
still de Rook to Huus.

I yearn to sleep, yearn to sleep like the tree:
Without sorrow, without delight.
But the column of smoke ... It beckons me
Back home, as in a dream walk at night.