I saw thee first when cherries bloomed,
the petals o'er thee falling;
I heard across the flower'd stream
thy soul to my soul calling.

So fair the blooms like tinted snow
beneath the sunset lying;
they flutter'd like the butterflies,
when o'er the rapeseed flying,
when lightly, gaily flying.

And, love: we too kept holiday,
so long ago it seems,
ah, love, we too kept holiday,
so long ago it seems.