But where shall I be in next year's spring?
Thus I used to ask, when with waving hats
We let our song ring out into the valley,
For every treetop offered me fresh wreaths.

I only knew that round about me spring was glowing,
That the rivers were shining in their journey to the sea,
The birds were singing of faraway wonderlands,
Then the red of dawn yet had no boundary.

But now evening is already approaching, all the loved ones,
Tired of wandering, have long fallen behind,
The nightwind soughs through my wilted wreaths,

And the evening bells call me home,
And in the loneliness I ask, startled:
Where shall I be in next year's spring?