Celles qui vont au bois, 
C'est la mere et la fille 
La mere va chantant, mais sa fille soupire 
Qu'a-vous a soupirer, ma blanche Marguerite 
J'ai bien trop d'ire en moi, et n'ose vous le dire 

Reflexions on water 
Fading moon, crisdom light 
Whispering in the air 
Eve of endless night 

Distant sounds of yapping 
 [bad word] tight 
white doe is standing 
lake on her side 

Cursed she has been for so long 
In this forest of old 
Where ancient gods used to gather 
Doomed she [bad word] for her life 
Harassed like a wild beast 
By the dogs of her own brother 

 [bad word]  

Once she had been a princess 
Of shining beauty 
Venerated for her charm and wisdom 
Mouth of Muse for poets 
Light of Love for the knights 
Splendent Pearl of her kingdom 

Wrath burned in the heart of Hel 
The Goddess of the Land 
So jealous of the young beauty 
Witch, she cast a spell on her 
And with her mighty hand 
She turned the maid into a deer 

 [bad word]  

Deadly wounded by a spear 
The brave and lonely deer 
Fell by the arm of her brother 
As the dogs [bad word] near 
She dropped a bitter tear 
The moonlight fading on her fur