Spring comes into the land,
Flying upon the wings of swallows,
And preceding it and following it
All the birds sing,
And though silent, but happy enough,
Around [spring] in silent flight,
Flurry upon flurry, 
[Comes] an army of butterflies.

Thereupon the forest begins to feel so youthful,
Takes hold of a new mood;
The oldest mountains now place
Twigs upon their hats;
Yes, wherever even only a small crack
Has split the rock, grey and cold,
There immediately
A freshly blooming flower is suspended.

With merry face [the flower] gazes
Far over all the valleys
Toward the morning light
And toward the beam of evening;
And when twilight comes with cool dew
And when night [melts]1 down,
She trustingly offers
And fills her chalice as well.

And, beautified, earth and heaven 
Are reflected in the flower's chalice,
The while in the forest below sound
The May-happy feathered creatures.
And laughing, spring hovers in the blue air
High over mountain and [gorge]2,
And sprinkles scent 
From its full head of curls.