My ornaments are arms,
— My pastime is in war,
My bed is cold upon the wold,
— My lamp yon star.

My journeyings are long,
— My slumbers short and broken;
From hill to hill I wander still,
— Kissing thy token.

I ride from land to land,
— I sail from sea to sea;
Some day more kind I fate may find,
— Some night, kiss thee.