By the heath stood a lady,
All lonely and fair;
As she watch'd for her lover
A falcon flew near.
'Happy falcon!' she cried,
'Who can fly where he list,
And can choose in the forest
The tree he loves best!

'Thus, too, had I chosen
One knight for mine own.
Him my eye had selected,
Him priz'd I alone.
But other fair ladies
Have envied my joy;
And why? for I sought not
Their bliss to destroy.

'As to thee, lovely summer!
Returns the birds' strain,
As on yonder green linden
The leaves spring again,
So constant doth grief
At my eyes overflow,
And wilt not thou, dearest,
Return to me now?

'Yes, come my own hero,
All others desert!
When first my eye saw thee,
How graceful thou wert!
How fair was thy presence,
How graceful, how bright!
Then think of me only,
My own chosen knight!'