O’ pilidod grass, spread ‘pon the breadth of the mountain valleys
Where my lover waits for me in robes of silken thread,
Garbed, spread across her shoulder of creme, to ivory neck.
There she dances ‘pon the fields where the foals give their turns
And the calves give hearty suck upon their mother’s teats.
The shepherds gaze upon the herds, where my lover in
Bonny feeds the lilies with nectar of nearby streams.
The singing of the mountain songs, in Hoar English fill
The caverns with their echoes of love songs for we two
Who by the roads and the valleys search all day and night.
Suitors come and go, as she hopes on me, and I her.
The most beautiful among the maidens comes nigh me
Yet my dove, darling of my valleys and hopes do sing
I reject promises of women who do love me not.
The mountains sing their songs to bring us nigh one another,
As the gulls in piridod coasts sing their hymns to us
Where the shepherds nigh the fields do tend their woolen sheep.
Establish her waiting, oh LORD, LORD of Sabbaoth.
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B. K. Neifert 