Im Krug zum grünen Kranze [English translation]

At the "pitcher of green wreath" (1)

I stopped off, quite thirsty

A hiker sat inside

At a table, drinking chilly wine

They poured him a glass

It never seemed to get empty

His head he rested on his bundle

As if too heavy for him

I would take the seat next to him

And looked into his eyes

The mood was quite cordial

But yet felt a bit strange.

Then into my eyes as well

The strange wanderer looked

Then he filled up my pitcher

And looked at me again

Hei! what a sound the pitchers made (2)

How our hands burned when whe shook hands

A toast to your little Darling (3)

Dear Brother of the fatherland !