By Morris Rosenfeld
Nit zukh mikh vu di mirtn grinen,
Gefinst mikh dortn nit, mayn shats.
Vu lebns velkn bay mashinen,
Dortn iz mayn rueplats.
Nit zukh mikh vu di feygl zingen,
Gefinst mikh dortn nit, mayn shats.
A shklaf bin ikh, vu keytn klingen,
Dortn iz mayn rueplats.
Nit sukh mikh vo fontanen spritsn,
Gefinst mikh dortn nit, mayn shats.
Vu trern rinen, tseyner kritzen,
Dortn iz mayn rueplats.
Un libstu mikh mit varer libe,
To kum tzu mir, mayn guter shats.
Un hayter oyf mayn harts, dos tribe,
Un makh mir zis mayn rueplats.
—-
Don’t look for me where myrtles grow,
You will not find me there, my beloved.
Where lives wither at the machines,
There is my resting place.
Don’t look for me where birds sing,
You will not find me there, my beloved.
A slave am I, where chains clang.
There is my resting place.
Don’t look for me where fountains play,
You will not find me there, my beloved.
Where tears are flowing, teeth are gnashing,
There is my resting place.
And if you love me with true love,
Then came to me, my good beloved,
And light up my gloomy heart,
And make sweet my resting place.