The little child played outside in the glow of spring,
And was happy and had so much to look at,
How the fields shimmer and the rivers run--
Then the evening peered in through the trees,
[The evening] that brings all the beautiful pictures into disarray.
And as it becomes so quiet round about,
A secret singing begins to sound from the valleys,
As if it wanted to embrace the world with melancholy,
The colours dissipate and the earth becomes pale.
Full of wonder the little child asks:  Ah, what is that?
And dreamily lies down in the rustling grass;
The flowers touch him coolly upon the heart
And smilingly it feels such a sweet pain,
And the earth, the mother, so beautiful and pale,
Kisses the child and does not let him go,
Devoutly [the earth] draws the child into her lap
And places it below in a warm and soft bed,
Quietly under flowers and moss.--

"And why do you weep, father and mother, over me?
I am in a much more beautiful garden
It is so large and wide and wonderful,
Many flowers of clear gold stand therein,
And beautiful winged children swing themselves
Up and down upon them and sing.--
I know them well from springtime,
How they travelled over distant mountains and valleys
And many a one called me from out the blue of heaven,
When I slept down below in the garden.--
And in the midst of all the flowers and glow
Stands the most beautiful of all women,
A shining little child upon her breast.--
I cannot speak and also not weep,
I can only sing always and then gaze again
Quietly in great, blissful joy."