You must go a-wandering to the woods,
To the green grove, to the dark forest,
In which all the wonders 
That ever love imagined still happen;
To the woods where from the young sprig
Your heart breaks off a fresh hoping,
To the woods that know all your yearning
And speak your quietest language.

  In the woods there sounds the quiet word
To which you hearkened long and deeply,
And every name that your heart ever
Called out in love, rustles there,
And whatever out here mutely and coldly
Passes before your bosom,
The woods, the holy woods,
Sough to you in tone and song.

  And if you wander alone in the woods, --
Where does the world offer a more beautiful place?
And if you rest therein as a twosome, --
Where does heaven offer a more blessed dream?
And if from the depths a distant post-horn
Sends a greeting into the grove,
Then the woods, the green woods, give you 
Everything that earth and heaven can.