Whither, whither, pretty child? The world is not yet open. Oh,
see how quiet is all around! ’Tis before daybreak, the streets
are mute, whither, whither, do you hurry? ’Tis now good to
sleep, and do you see, the flowers are still dreaming; every
bird’s nest is still silent? Whither pray are you driven now?
Whither do you hurry, tell me, and what to do?
To earn a living.
Whither, whither, pretty child walking so late at night? Alone
through the darkness and cold? And everything is at rest, the
world is silent. Whither does the wind carry you? You will yet
lose your way. Scarcely has day smiled on you, how can the night
help you? For it is mute and deaf and blind. Whither, whither,
with easy mind?