As fair as an angel full of Valhalla's bliss,
 fairer than all the other young lads was he;
 divinely gentle was his gaze, like the May sun
 reflected in the blue mirror of the sea.
 
 His kisses - what a feeling of Paradise!
 Like two flames interwove, 
 like the sounds of a harp mingling
 into a heavenly melody -
 
 so our melting spirits rushed flying together, 
 lips and cheeks burning, trembling,
 one soul merging into the other - and the earth and sky swam
 about the lovers as if they were dissolving!
 
 He is gone - in vain, alas, in vain
 I sigh anxiously for him!
 He is gone, and all the joy of life
 flees from me in one forlorn moan!

She couldn't even say the smallest word to me,
Too many listeners were paying attention;
I could only shyly question her look,
And I clearly understood what that was saying.
I have come here softly into your silence,
You beautifully leaved tent of beech trees,
In your green covering, hide
The lovers from the eyes of the world!

From afar, with a confused roar,
Busy day is at work,
And within the noises of hollow roaring
I recognise the beating of heavy hammers.
Wrestling their meagre lot is so bitter
For humans taking on the harsh will of heaven;
However, easily won, from the lap
Of the gods happiness descends on us.

Let us hope that other people will never hear
How secretly happy we are made by devoted love!
They can only disturb the joy
Since they have never been delighted by joy themselves.
The world will never permit happiness,
It will just be hunted as prey,
You will have to steal it or commit robbery,
Before you are overtaken by envy.

It slips in gently on tiptoe,
It loves quietness and the night,
It runs off on quick feet,
Wherever a traitor's eye is keeping watch.
Oh gentle fountain, throw out
A wide stream around us,
And threatening with rising waves,
Defend this sanctuary.

Yes, I know it, this true love
is cherished in vain by my injured heart!
If only there remained for me the smallest hope,
I would be richly rewarded for my pain!

But even this hope is futile,
for I know well her cruel game!
Despite the faithfulness of my struggle,
my goal ever flies from me!

Nevertheless, I love; nevertheless, I hope, always
without love, without true hope;
I can never abandon this love!
Without it, my heart would break in two!

How eerie it is to me to hear
the first breath of Spring;
how mournful I feel
that flowers are rising.

In their mothers' arms
they rested so quietly;
now, ah poor things, they must
go out into the bustling world.

The tender children lift up
their heads shyly:
who calls us to life
out of this silent night?

Spring, with magic words,
breathing sweet pleasure,
lures them from their dark holes
and away from their mother's bosom.

Bright and festive, like brides,
the flowers glow luxuriantly,
yet already the groom is far away
and the sun pounds down with savage strength.

Now their fragrance betrays
that they are full of longing;
what makes the breeze so tangy and refreshing
comes from anguish.

The flower-chalices wilt
and gaze toward earth:
O Mother, take us back:
life gives us only pain.

The wilted leaves fall,
the snow covers them gently;
Oh God, so it goes with everything:
in the grave alone is Rest.

Flowers reveal the heart’s feelings,
They speak many a secret word,
They bow down confidentially on wavering stems,
As if love pulled them down.
They hide coyly in the bedeckt arbor,
As though desire might betray them to a thief. 

They revel, in a soft, enchanting image,
The nature of women, of girls;
They reveal beauty, grace, gentleness,
They reveal life’s prize:
It is in the bud, so secretly entwined,
Where youth may find hope's pearl.

They weave together thoughts of longing and grief,
From colored strands into fragrant clothing,
Nothing is accomplished by the bonds of hateful separation,
the flowers announce our sorrow.
What the loud mouth, out of caution, may not say,
May be lamented by flowers.

 ... 

 Sacred, glowing sunset!
 The sky positively melts into splendour;
 thus do martyrs depart,
 smiling sweetly as they die for love.
 
 The mountains, still and grey at dawn,
 are bright with fire as the day dies;
 the swan on purple-red water,
 every blade glistening with silver dew!
 
 O sun, God's light, you are
 never more magnificent than when you are withdrawing!
 You draw us gladly after you
 to find the source of your resplendence.