Make haste, Chronos!
Forth, into a rattling trot!
Downhill slides the path;
A repulsive dizziness slowly
seizes my mind at your dallying.
Quick, jolting equally
over sticks and stones - trot
quickly into life!

Now, already again we are
breathless, at a walking pace,
struggling uphill.
Up then, don't be sluggish then,
striving and hoping onwards!

Wide, tall and splendid
is the panoramic view of life,
from mountain-range to mountain-range
floats the eternal spirit,
full of promise of eternal life.

To the side, a shady over-roof
draws you;
and a gaze of warm freshness
from a maiden on the threshhold there.
Refresh yourself! For me, too, maiden,
this foaming drink,
this fresh healthy look!

Down then, down faster!
Look, the sun is sinking!
Before it sets, before I, an old man,
am seized by a mist on the moor,
my toothless jaw chattering
and my limbs trembling,

drunk from the last ray -
pull me, a sea of fire
foaming in my eye,
blinded, reeling,
through Hell's nocturnal gate.

Sound your horn, Coachman,
rattle with a noisy trot,
so that Orcus can hear that we're coming,
so that immediately at the door
the innkepper can give us a friendly welcome.

 Crossing over vale and river 
 the sun chariot passes cleanly.
 Ah, it stirs in its course
 my agonies, much like yours,
 deep in the heart,
 always fresh each morning.

 Hardly does the night help me,
 for my dreams themselves come
 now in mournful aspect,
 and I feel these pains
 quietly in my heart,
 a secretly-forming power.

 Already, for many fair years
 have I seen ships sailing below,
 each going to its place,
 but ah! the constant agonies,
 firm in my heart,
 do not float away in the river.

 I must appear in fine clothing
 taken from the wardrobe
 because today is a holiday;
 no one suspects the agony
 that in my heart of hearts
 is tearing grimly at me.

 In secret I must weep,
 but I can seem cheerful,
 even healthy and flushed;
 were these agonies fatal
 to my heart,
 ah, I would long since have died.

How in the morning light
you glow around me,
beloved Spring!
With love's thousand-fold bliss,
to my heart presses
the eternal warmth
of sacred feelings
and endless beauty!

Would that I could clasp 
you in these arms!

Ah, at your breast
I lie and languish,
and your flowers and your grass
press themselves to my heart.
You cool the burning
thirst of my breast,
lovely morning wind!
The nightingale calls
lovingly to me from the misty vale.
I am coming, I am coming!
but whither? To where?

Upwards I strive, upwards!
The clouds float
downwards, the clouds
bow down to yearning love.
To me! To me!
In your lap
upwards!
Embracing, embraced!
Upwards to your bosom,
All-loving Father!