Stork, upon our roof descend.
Thou stork, upon our roof descend.
Upon our ash-tree build thy nest,
Our dear one, and our honoured guest.

    Stork, I would complain to thee:--
Yes, stork, I would complain to thee.
A thousand sorrows I would tell,
The griefs that in my bosom dwell.

    Stork, when thou our house didst leave,
When last our ash-tree thou didst leave,
Cold, blasting winds the heavens filled,
And all our smiling flowers were killed.

    Clouds obscured the brilliant sky;
Dark clouds obscured the brilliant sky.
Up there in flakes they broke the snow,
And Winter killed the flowers below.

    In our garden all was white.
Our little garden all was white.
Our tender rose-trees, fresh and green,
All died of Winter's frost-bite keen.