Greetings to you, you quiet rose
In your gloomy solitude;
You sprang forth from the dark forest moss
In the fairy-tale summertime.

When long already in the warm breezes of spring
The world has been resplendent with colourful blossoms,
Only then do you open your dreamy eye
Shyly under the canopy of the wood.

With their last songs the nightingales
Greet your splendour;
At your feet the shy deer
Reposes in the cool night.

With a rapid leap the waterspring plunges
From the rock when it espies you,
And as a mirror, clear and bright, rests
Before you, you nightingale-bride.

When butterflies flutter about you,
When the evening winds waft about you
And rock you into sweet dreams,
How rich and beautiful is your life!

And when your petals grow colourful,
Oh, how I envy your lot!
You bend your head and painlessly
Strew them upon the soft moss as you die.

All the birds in the trees,
They do not lament in bitter sorrow;
They twitter only of blossom-dreams
And of a rendezvous in springtime.

The sun still greets you through the mountaintops
Before it sets and takes it leave,
And, soughing, the treetops bend down
As if they were speaking a quiet prayer.