In a street, in the attic of a little house,
Lives my dear Reyzele.
I pass under her window every evening
Whistle and call out,
Reyzl, come, come, come.
A window opens, the old little house awakes,
And a sweet voice rings out
In the quiet street - it's Reyzele speaking.
Wait a little longer, my dear,
I shall soon be free
Walk around the street awhile,
One, two, three.

I walk cheerfully, singing and cracking nuts,
Then I hear her little feet
Skipping down the steps.
As she comes down the last step
I embrace her.
Quietly I kiss her head,
come, come, come.

I'll ask you, Dovidl,
Don't whistle anymore.
You hear - he's whistling again - says mother.
She's pious, and it upsets her.
Whistling is not for Jewish boys.
Simply give a sign in Yiddish
One, two, three.

From today I won't whistle anymore
That I swear
To please you I will even become pious
My modest one.
Whenever you want,
I will be as observant as your mother
And go every Sabbath to the synagogue.
Come, come, come.

I believe you, my beloved, and for that
I shall knit for you
A tefillin bag with a Star of David.
When people in the synagogue will be pleased
Tell them
Reyzl, my beloved, knitted this.
One, two, three.

Thank you for your present.
I love you so much, Reyzele.
I love your mother, the street, the little old house.
I love the stones near your house,
Since you tread on them.
Listen, your mother is already calling - Reyzl.
Come, come, come.

So I go cheerfully, singing and cracking nuts,
Hearing the sound of her feet
running on the steps.
Again, the little house stands deep in thought,
the little street again quiet.
Come to me in my dreams, Reyzl,
Come, come, come.