English Rendering
There is a northern belle fair as can be;
Her tower seems to merge with clouds high.
Her eyes are brighter than the moon bright;
Her smile would delight a whole town with delight.
She often fears the blue grass may turn sere;
She sits and sighs when blows the autumn drear.
She plays sad music with her fingers fair,
And rises at dawn, sighing in despair.
How can she not meet with a lord full of grace,
Riding with him on a double phenix in the sky!
