It is a girl, who, early and late,
Hovers before my soul,
A girl, as if she could stand up and walk,
Woven out of the allure of heaven.
I see her when, gently through my window
The young morning flahes in,
I see her, when lovingly, like the image,
The evening star signals to me.

She follows me, a true companion on the way,
When it is calm and when it is crowded,
I would find her in the Earth's womb,
I would even find her in heaven.
She hovers before me in the fields and forests,
Resplendent over the flower beds,
And she glows in the form of one of the Seraphim
At the altar where I pray.

Oh heaven, if my eyes have taken delight
So often in your blue,
It is because of the similarity that allows me
To enjoy it with her eyes.
You too, oh rose, would not allow me
To pluck you so willingly
If it were not that the beauteous one's face were
Adorned with a similar crimson.

I can hear her voice even
In the song of the nightingale;
In the swaying movement of the standing corn I see
Only the waves of her hair;
In the breath of the morning air I experience
Only the peace which emerges from her smile,
And in the scent of the carnation
Her own odour is so sweetly infused.

When I am out in the field with newly grown grass
Counting the meek little lambs,
I think that she is no less pure and good,
Yes, the girl's soul is the same!
And when I see doves, two by two,
Enjoying love happily,
Oh, my heart sighs. In just such a warm and devoted way
I would like to kiss her lips.

Then I begin to feel the working of a sweet pain
That warms me through and through:
It appears to me that I am pressing her to my heart
And holding her in my arms!
Frost and fire then speak aloud to me
As they shudder and work their way through me,
Every drop of blood speaks aloud to me:
Only she can give you happiness!

Yet the image which, early and late,
Hovers before my soul,
Is it just a figment of my imagination
Woven from air and dreams?
Oh no, however warmly love works for me
By painting the angelic vision,
It is in fact merely a shadow of the brightness
Beaming around that original image.

Only one thing, sensitivity,
Can surpass this:
If this heart and hand are offered to me
That barely leaves the original image - hope!
O girl, learn from the image
The sweetest of urges:
Be beauteous and gentle like your image
And smile, smile  - love!