O love, where were you going;
through forests wrought with gloaming?
O'er rivers full with flowing?
Soft autumn winds were moaning
for my love, that you were going.
That was my heart t'was moaning
for you were surely going.
O love, where are you riding;
o'er mountain's frosted siding?
Past forgotten springs in hiding?
Soft autumn winds are sighing,
for my love, that you are riding.
That is my heart 'tis sighing
for fear that you are dying.
