Who are you, spirit of love,
Weaving your way throughout the universe,
Impregnating the womb of the earth,
And giving life to the atom?
Who are you that binds the elements,
Creating the spheres of the planets,
Rejoicing out of angels' harps 
And babbling out of the new born?

Who are you, power of powers,
That makes the eyes of the elderly clear?
That makes red the cheeks of the young
And swells the breast of girls?
Who are you who offer and demand love,
Struggle and get into a tizzy over love,
You who write poems like 'Der Messias'
And die the death of Brutus?

Are you not the breath of God,
Unimpeachable, like his light,
And strong, like his right hand,
Which builds and breaks worlds?
You are our crusade's flag,
With the sacred shame you inflame
Cowards and the weak,
A fluttering Oriflamme.

The only one that is good and noble
Is someone whose bow you draw for them.
The only one that is good and divine
Is someone made into a virile man by you.
His work is a pyramid,
His word is a powerful order,
For him hell is just a mockery.
For him death is something to be scorned.

The evening blooms,
Temora glows
in the blaze of the dipping sun.
As it sinks
it kisses the sea,
which shivers with reverence and bliss.

A gray aroma
floats through the air,
veiling Daura's golden meadows.
It rustles about
the gloomy sea,
and twilight reigns with anticipation.

O dear land!
O sacred seaside!
O meadow, obscured by every other meadow;
meadow in whose lap
the flowers sprout
that outsparkles all other flowers!

Is not the snow
often linked with the lily,
as this fair flower is with the glow of roses?
The meadow awards it a wreath
full of fragrance and splendour -
the prize for being flawless.

Its amber fragrance
wafts through the air,
spicing the air both near and far
and if the light of
this song does not die,
its name will reach someday to the stars.

O dear land!
O majestic shore!
Be proud of your flower of flowers!
The sacred sea
and the islands
ringing it, pay homage to its splendour.

Night veils the shore,
Temora disappears,
and the late red glow of dusk fades.
The sea rumbles
and, glowing red,
the full moon rolls out of the dark waters.

It seizes me, I don't know how:
Heavenly delight.
Am I perhaps even on my way
Up to the the stars?
But I would rather stay,
I can honestly say,
to make my day
With song and a glas of wine.

Don't you wonder, my friends,
about the way I behave,
really, it is just fine
On our good earth.
Therefore I solemnly swear
and without any willful deceit
that I won't shamefully
Desert from here/take leave.

But as we are all
here together now,
methinks, the goblets should jingle
To the poet's lines.
Even good friends do  move away,
some several hundred miles,
therefore while we can
Let us drink together.

Cheers, to those who achieve!
This is my motto -
first and foremost to my King.
His is the honour.
He fights against the domestic and foreign enemy
from within as from the outside:
strives to preserve,
but even more, to prosper.

Now  I hurry to salute
Her, the one and only,
everyone imagines courteously
His dearest one.
If a maiden listens,
know that I mean
she may accordingly
Salute her one and only!

The third salute is to the friends
be they two or three,
who with us quietly enjoy
the good times,
and lighthanded easily  disperse
the mists of gloomy nights;
To them a cheer,
Old ones and new.

Mightier is the stream now
With waves piling high -
They are doing well now,
Honest comrades!
who with combined force
stand by each other
when in luck  is shining
and in troubled times.

There are many just like us,
Coming now together.
They will win, just like us
Each their own games!
From the spring to the sea
many a mill is grinding,
and it's the whole world's welfare
I'm aiming at.

Oh valuable Tokay, oh royal wine,
You give voice to my lyre, causing rare versifying.
With a delight missing for so long
And a newly awakened sense of fun,
Like the sun, you warm up
My half-frozen heart.
You give voice to my lyre, causing rare versifying,
Oh valuable Tokay, oh royal wine!

Oh valuable Tokay, oh royal wine,
You pour power and fire through my marrow and limbs.
I feel a new life
Sparkling through my veins
And your nectar grapes
Glow in my breast.
You pour power and fire through my marrow and limbs.
Oh valuable Tokay, oh royal wine!

Oh valuable Tokay, oh royal wine,
As destroyer of sorrow, we should dedicate this song to you!
In the grief-laden mood
You give wings to our blood,
To blondes and brunettes
You give the courage to mess about.
As destroyer of sorrow, we should dedicate this song to you,
Oh valuable Tokay, oh royal wine!

Sink, dear sun, sink!
End your cloudy run,
and beckon to the moon
quickly to take your place.

But, magnificently and more beautifully,
rise again tomorrow,
dear sun! and bring with you
my sweetheart back to me.

As I still und calmly spun,
Without even stopping,
A handsome young man
Approached me at my distaff.

He praised me, as praise was due;
Could that do any harm?
On my flaxen hair, matching the thread,
And on the flaxen thread.

But he wasn’t content with that,
And wouldn’t let well enough alone;
And the thread snapped into,
Which I had been working on for a long time.

And the flax’s stone-weight
Produced many more threads;
But, alas! I could no longer
Boast about them.

When I took them to the weaver,
I felt something stir,
And my poor heart beat
With a quicker pulse.

Now, in the scorching sun,
I bring out my work to bleach it,
And in pain, I bend myself
Over the nearest pool.

What I, in my little room,
Spun so quietly and finely,
Will see - how can it be otherwise? -
Finally the light of day.