Sunday at Bunting Meadow
Liese virtuously herds the Geese
Then Jakob comes running up
Holding a sickle in his hand

This he pushes here and there
Little Liese under her skirt and bodice
He wants to taste her, wants to force her
And the boy will sing then

Dear Liese, let the geese be,
I want to try your skin
The scythe is rusty from the blood,
If you are not friendly to me.

Jakob is allowed to lick little Liese
And it shall taste like pear
Small hairs erected
They hurry to the wheatfield.

In the golden flood* well hidden
He has infected Liese
He held her until the evening, embracing her tightly
And sung into the child

Dear Liese, let the geese be,
I want to try your skin
The scythe is rusty from the blood,
If you are not friendly to me.

Dear Liese, let the geese be,
I want to try your skin
The scythe is rusty from the blood,
If you are not friendly to me.

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