The red glow of the dawn
Heralds the new day,
The young grove stands
Alight with the glow of love.

The stars, weary of wandering,
Have long since set,
In their stead, birds
Fly joyfully through the heavens.

My poor heart, full of anguish,
Is caught up in anxiety and the weight of care;
It sits, a little bird,
Sick behind iron bars.

It hears the singing well,
Sees the joyous flight of others,
There it sits, feeble and sick,
It can neither sing nor wander;

And yet in its dreams, with its head
Hidden in its wings, it fancies
It is singing upon a tree,
It is flying over valley and hills.

Extinguish, you sunbeam!
Night, come and arise,
So that over mountain and valley
We may once again fly joyously.