Birchen cross on mound in forest deep,
All too well thy secret thou dost keep.

Did some weary gypsy, wooing rest,
Find a haven here on Nature's breast?

Or a maiden whom the world betrayed,
Here, a storm-beat flower, did droop and fade?

Did some poor despairing wretch seek balm,
Quench his grief deep in the forest's calm?

Thou thy spirit faithfully dost keep,
Birchen cross on mound in forest deep.