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Are the reeds in the fields rustling,
Or the leaves moving in the breeze?
No, that's the jaunty step of a young man,
As the peddlers come to town.

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Hey! My box, my box is brimming,
I've got cottons and brocades!
Hey there, sweetheart, take some pity
On a young man's aching back.

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Step out with me into the tall rye,
I'll wait there for you till dark,
When I catch sight of your dark eyes,
I'll lay out my goods for you.

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Oh, the dark night saw it all there,
How the two of them came to terms,
Straighten up your stalks there, tall rye,
Keep your sacred secret safe.