The fragrance of narcissus wafts about me;
It speaks to me, the spring air:
 Beloved,
 Awaken in the red glow of morning;
 Awaiting you is a wreath rich in blossoms,
Sad man!

 Only you must struggle for it, and act,
 And no longer repose in dreams;
 Let them fade!
 Come, my love, come out to the field,
 In the green house of leaves
 You will find it.

We are all well-disposed toward you,
You poor, love-timid child,
 We fragrances;
 You were always a true playmate to us,
 And for that we serve you willingly and quickly,
 We fragrances.

 To your beloved we carry your "Alas!",
 And we wreathe her bedroom
 With blossoms.
 We will, when you go from her
 And stand alone, then, and mournful,
 Watch over her.

 Awaken in the morning-red glow;
 Already awaits your myrtle wreath,
 Beloved!
 Spring announces good tidings,
 And now no "Alas!", no more weeping,
 Sad man!