Just Without Our Little Window

Just without our little window all is bitter cold
And our little well of water winter's frosts enfold.
With my hatchet— none is better—
I'll go break each icy fetter,
Then our little well of water shall flow as of old.

Just without our little window, white a rose-bud peers;
Tell me why, my little darling, why the sky ne'er clears?
No,the world is not so dreary,
Nor am I a wee bit weary,
Yet within my heart is pining, freely flow my tears.

Just without our little window leans a lily tall;
Tell me truly, oh my darling, why no lovers call?
No one ever comes to meet me,
No one ever comes to greet me,
Poor and lowly they all shun me, seeking riches all.


Translation by
John Mokrejs

Source: Botsford Collection of Folk Songs, Volume 3, Southern Europe
Copyright YWCA, 1921
Copyright G. Schirmer, 1933

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