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Celles qui vont au bois,

C'est la mère et la fille

La mère va chantant, mais sa fille soupire

Qu'a-vous à soupirer, ma blanche Marguerite

J'ai bien trop d'ire en moi, et n'ose vous le dire

Reflexions on water

Fading moon, crisdom light

Whispering in the air

Eve of endless night

Distant sounds of yapping

Swiveling, coming tight

A white doe is standing

A lake on her side

Cursed she has been for so long

In this forest of old

Where ancient gods used to gather

Doomed she has run for her life

Harassed like a wild beast

By the dogs of her own brother

Once she had been a princess

Of shining beauty

Venerated for her charm and wisdom

Mouth of Muse for poets

Light of Love for the knights

Splendent Pearl of her kingdom

Wrath burned in the heart of Hel

The Goddess of the Land

So jealous of the young beauty

Witch, she cast a spell on her

And with her mighty hand

She turned the maid into a deer

Deadly wounded by a spear

The brave and lonely deer

Fell by the arm of her brother

As the dogs were coming near

She dropped a bitter tear

The moonlight fading on her fur