The cold sloth
Of winter has had its time;
Now is the joyous season
Of delightful spring.

Plants decorate the ground,
And little flowers the plants;
The leaves are back
And make shade in the forest.

 ... 

Ah, hear in the copse
The shepherd's flute
Which upsets the building-works
Of the nesting nightingale.

See the clear, pure water
Bubbling in the streams;
Within them, see the greenery
Of their branching neighbours.

 ... 

The housekeeping bees
Make here their sweet produce,
Flitting among the flowers
To garner their due.

 ... 

Everywhere resound the clear voices 
Of all kinds of birds,
In the meadows the larks,
The swans on the waters,

In the houses the swallows,
The nightingales in the woods,
All raise their sweet voices 
In happy new songs.

 ... 

And if singing pleases me,
Is there not good reason
Since everything amuses itself this way
In this happy season?