Fly, you quiet birdlet, you,
Through the expanse of heaven,
Fly on with blessed wings,
With clouds to accompany you.

Springtime rejoices up to you
With such a sweet sound;
Birdlet has a sensitive ear,
Hears all the voices,

Hears how the alluring tones
Entice all from bush and cave;
But the birdlet hastens away,
The faithful soul,

Until the calling of a single breast
Entices through the winds:--
Birdlet knew well that it
Would find its love.

  Away over the hills
The clouds gently pass,
To dissolve there
Softly in the splendour of evening,
  Oh how beautifully, how peacefully and beautifully
Do they travel along the heavenly heights!
  Heart, my heart, you, too, soar up,
May God give you rest,
And serene, heavenly peace as well.

  Over the meadows, lo,
The birdlets are whirring swiftly!
They are seeking the softness of the nest
Deep in the blossoming bush.
  Oh how beautifully along the forest
Their evening song is sounding and resounding!
  Heart, my heart, you, too, soar up,
May God give you rest,
And joyful, quiet trust as well.

  Above on the heavens now
A little star is already twinkling,
As if it had harkened from afar --
Hark -- to the sound of the bell.
  Oh how beautifully, so mildly and beautifully
It laughs down from the blue heights!
  Heart, my heart, you, too, soar up,
May God give you rest,
And blissful, blithe hope as well.

May has come, like gold the flowers 
In the velvety grass glow so beautifully.
Rejoicing is in the air,
The chasms are growing green,
The trees are blooming, upon the heights, in the valley:
Who could count the number of the delightful little blossoms!

There is the scent of so many flowers in the garden,
Red-cheeked children are playing gleefully;
They sing, they leap
In merry circles,
The bird is twittering, it hops on the bush,
There it swiftly carries the little blade of grass into its bed.

The swallows are darting like dark arrows;
They are in remarkable haste with their building.
Flying from far away
They came hither,
They found and are repairing their old nest,
Welcome, welcome, ye summer guests!

The kite is boldly circling in the air,
The cuckoo is calling from the forested green.
The thrush nightingales
Have quietly revealed themselves:
From the swaying treetop, from forest and bush
A gaudy jumble is rising and moving.

The wheels are creaking, the field is teeming,
With plowing and planting it is joyfully tilled,
With jests loving hearts
Speak to each other,
The lad teases the rosy maiden,
And were he to chastise her, she would not take it amiss.

In the dark of the night, the blissful night,
Where stars and breezes are ignited by love,
Something approaches quietly
In the familiar manner.
Something taps gently upon the little window:
A secret finger has opened [the window].

    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!
Is it your greenery?
Is it your secret darkness?
Your colourful blooming?
The mad sparkling of the sun?
  That makes me ever anew and always
  Stand rapt in your magic, drunk with bliss.
    Who may tell,
    Who ever probe it?
  I must only always sing:
    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!

    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!
Is it your scents?
Is it the surging of your bushes?
The cool air,
Your high cathedrals?
  That again and again I am drawn
  Down to you, beloved.
    Who may tell,
    Who may ever probe it?
  I must only always sing:
    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!

    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!
Is it your singing?
Is it the whirling of your firs?
Your anxious lamentation?
The roaring of the old oaks?
  That homesickness immediately assails me,
  When I, oh lovely one, must leave you.
    Who may tell,
    Who ever probe it?
  I must only always sing:
    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!

    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!
Is it majesty?
Is it homely, comforting being
That wafts through you,
That makes you so exquisite?
  That the singer’s songs must again and again
  Praise you rejoicingly!
    Who may tell,
    Who ever probe it?
  I must only always sing:
    Oh forest, oh forest,
How eternally beautiful you are!