Springtime begins to smile
A westerly breeze takes flight
And passes through the valley with a wafting;
Let that be comfort enough for you!
  The first birds are singing
From the blossoming willow tree,
And with the sound the evil
Dream of winter is passing away.

  The first violets are already
Perkily getting ready to bloom,
And light clouds gaze
Down upon the young greenness.
  Ah! though with threatening and snorting
Winter might nevertheless return,
Only have courage! do not let yourself be robbed
Of your springtime joy, my heart!

  Springtime begins to smile,
Let that be comfort enough for you!
Though the breeze leaves off its wafting,
The thawing wind is taking flight!
  From all the counties it sweeps
The evil guest away,
So that soon there shall be flowers 
To be seen upon every pathway!

What a sweet, quiet ringing, oh hark!
In the walkway under the linden trees!
Concealed, the bees are singing
The last evening song.

The brook hardly dares to trickle,
As if it were listening to [the bees];
The flowers sway and ponder
And sink their calyces to rest.

And down through the tangle of branches
The last sunbeams travel:
I felt as if I heard again
The melodies of childhood.

  That is the loveliest time, hurray!
When in the morning already at two and three
The birdlets sing in the forest,
  Yes, some right after midnight already,
Before the dear sun has yet wakened,
Let their dear little voice resound!

  That is the loveliest time, hurray!
When everything grows green and blooms in May,
No little grass blade remains concealed,
  The sky is blue, and the air mild,
The mountains are clear, and the scent is sweet
In the evening as in the morning!

  That is the loveliest time, hurray!
Well! in the morning already at two and three
Get on the move quickly,
  And delight in all the joy and splendour,
And rejoice and sing by day and by night,
As God has commanded the forest to do!

  Far over the gorge, how quietly
The blooming meadows send greetings;
The last little star wishes to [go out]1,
And, in parting it, still sparkles over to me.
  And near and far, with a bright sound,
  The first bells are already waking.

  Far over the gorge, the scents waft
Refreshingly down into my heart;
And, like a psalm, the rejoicing songs
Of the birds pass through the breezes.
  For me, too, they waken quietly and familiarly,
  And they ring on happily and loudly.

  Far over the gorge, from there comes peace,
And peace also wafts away;
And hark! already the old beeches and firs
Are soughing more and more
  As if down there all of them were asking:
  When, too, does our agony of yearning end?

  The mists recede! The mountains gaze
Upon the land so clearly, so clearly!
The sun laughs! The airs become
Transparently blue, wondrously!
  The soft, mild days yet,
Oh come! they beckon you:
For how lovely is the last adornment
Of the meadows in the morning radiance!

  And though the trees no longer blossom,
Ah! they stand glowingly red.
And though the host of birds has long departed,
All singing is not dead!
  The soft, mild days yet,
Oh come! they beckon you:
For how lovely is the last adornment
Of the meadows in the morning radiance!

Make haste! before the storm roars through the land,
The last greeting shall die away!
And soon, ah! under a snowy garment
The meadow must now sleep!
  The soft, mild days yet,
Oh come! they beckon you:
For how lovely is the last adornment
Of the meadows in the morning radiance!