From my beautiful well-loved linden tree,
Which kindly provided me with shade,
Yesterday harsh winds tore
A thousand of its leaves;
Pale and trembling all of them fell
Close by my window,
Just as if in their falling they sought
Protection from their neighbour.
 
   Good leaves! your burgeoning
Was a delight to my heart;
Now you can serve as a metaphor
For the weal and woe of my life.
For in my summer days
Joys blossomed about me;
Misfortune turned them into lamenting,
And they wilted, [and] are no more.
 
   Driven by the cold north-wind
You die far from your tree-trunk,
Just as I [die] far from all loved ones,
Who were taken from me by jealousy and malice.
But my innocence must comfort me,
And patience is a duty
Practised by the best [of mankind],
For the evil one does not know it.
 
   With the beautiful morning of spring
The linden tree shall bloom anew --
From its anxieties shall my soul, too,
Then be free once more?
May God bless! in sprouts and blossoms,
My children's spirit and good fortune;
For in this paternal goodness
You bring back my weal as well.