It is my heart, this little house, 
  In the middle, middle of the woods; 
Many little birds fly in and out, 
  Over field and hill.

They fly hither, they fly thither,
  Singing sweet songs; 
They fly away across the mountains, fly over the sea,
  And come singing back again.

In the morning light they pick for themselves
  Splendid golden roses:
The zephyrs teach them in the grove
   how to caress the violet blossoms.

To be sure, my heart is a happy heart, 
  And inside there is enthroned a queen,
Who turns every sorrow to bliss 
  With her sweet love.

All the little birds fly to her, 
  Fondle her and kiss; 
And she in smiling peace 
  Can well endure anything.

Ah, since the queen took house there,
  It is so light and bright inside:
I think it is as comfortable there
  As a chapel in the woods.