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Margarete Münsterberg, ed., trans. A Harvest of German Verse. 1916.

By I Heard a Sickle Rustling

Folk Song (16th Century)

I HEARD a sickle rustling,

A-rustling through the grain,

I heard a maid lamenting,

That she had lost her swain.

“Dear, let it rustle, rustle!

I heed not, how it goes:

For I have won a lover,

Where the green clover grows.”

“And hast thou won a lover,

Where thyme and clover grow:

Then I stand here so lonely,

My heart is sore with woe!”