Twine nine kinds of flowers into a wreath,
Attach the beginning to the end,
Work spirit and meaning in a blossoming radiance
For the summer solstice.
But for a little, delicate bouquet
You need not spend a long time choosing,
Take what you find and do not exclude any flowers,
Only let your beloved count them.

Panicles and wheat-ears, you trembling grasses,
You are to top them all,
Speedwell, still wet with dew,
You shall harmonize with the carnation.
Primula and heather and fireweed,
Touch-me-not balsam and germander,
You red strawberry right in the middle,
Just see! you go together.

Little spider, stay here, for you bring good luck!
But you, caterpillar, be gone!
Get behind the stars of the lady's bedstraw,
Ruddy leaves of the oak!
Below, around the ripple ivy, dark and curly,
I shall now tie the ribbon,
Flowers of the forest, a wild-grown bouquet
Sends its scents toward the beloved!