It is blissful in the days of spring
To take up the walking staff
And, a nosegay upon one's hat,
To roam through God's garden.

Above the white clouds travel,
Below the blue streams flow,
Beautifully resplendent in their new clothes
Are the forested heights and the flat meadows.

To the bleaching meadow the maiden brings
That which her diligence during the winter has spun,
And the merle tells the grove,
What it silently pondered when the world was covered in snow.

Even if they are the old tones,
The well-known, long familiar ones,
Still the bleaching maidens hearken
Gladly to the sweet, beloved sounds.

Gladly to the sweet, beloved sounds,
That ring out in mountain and valley;
Shepherd lad and charcoal-burner boy
Listen up, in order to sing along;

To sing along fresh and merry
After the long pains of winter;
All the half-forgotten songs
Awaken in the hearts of mankind.

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