Now the moon travels through the night of clouds,
Now the day is over;
Thereupon all the birds soon fall silent
In the forest round about.

The meadowlark still sings above
A song to the best of its ability;
The merle throbs out the last sound
And flies to its nest, its nest.

Then I too for a good night
Take my violin to hand;
That is a ringing evening prayer
And rises up to enter Heaven.

Spring has come
To the waiting land,
Has wrapped around itself
Its flower-garb;
From the branches there sounds
The birds’ singing,
After sorrowing and silence
A sound of greeting.
A yearning stirs, joy blossoms,
Go forth, my song, from my pulsing bosom!

Into the distance strives
That which is free and swift,
The stars go wandering
And the waters and the wind.
The clouds in the sky
Seethe and weave, --
To float with them
Is my most blissful dream.
You do not grasp the lightning bolt by its smashing shaft.
Me, too, you do not hold in fetters and confinement.

I have borne
The secret pain,
No longer in lamentations
Do I console my heart.
I wish to wield the spear
Upon a snorting steed
And my harp and my sword
Shall sing and resound.
I ride like a storm that splits the oak,
Out into freedom, out into the world!