English Rendering
In countryside few care about the State,
Nor Wheels nor hooves are heard in the deep gloom.
By broad daylight I close my wicket gate;
No worldly dust invades my vacant room.
Sometimes I go along the winding way
And meet with peasants through the bushy field.
Then we have nothing untoward to say
But talk about our corn’s growth and its yield.
Our corn grows day by day under our feet;
My field becomes wider beyond wild grass.
But I fear the onset of frost and sleet
Would do harm to my corn and grain, alas!