Thawing wind, merry comrade,
God greet you many thousand times!
The well-spring of song bursts forth immediately
When you move with a roar through the valley!

  How he rejoices, the audacious lad:
Winter's time has run out!
Hastens after winter with courageous leaps,
Chases it right out of the land!

  The victor rejoices brightly,
Storms forth from place to place,
The merry comrade shouts:
Your torturer is now gone!

  And the flowers in the valley
And the birdlets in the grove
Have awakened from the exulting sounds
And join into the rejoicing.

  Before all others, the poets, too,
Run out into the forest,
Rejoicing through the green forest halls
With the airy roaring of the wind.

  You should long have been gone already,
You winter, with taunts and scorn,
Audacious lad, accept our greetings,
You, who chased him away!