The sounds of bells echo through the warm air
Into the arches of the forest, into the cool grave.

Upon the tree the wilted leaf teeters red;
Green ivy climbs up the smooth bark.

My leaf, too, stood resplendent green in the hours of spring.
Now it is conquered red, it stands upon the twig.

Under the kisses of autumn, the foliage blooms red;
For the evening glow blazes in the last greeting [of the sun].

The bird quietly wends its way through the breezes;
An intimately sweet melody penetrates into my heart.

[A song] about the glow of love in the springtime grove,
About the caressing exchanges of the flowerets in the moonlight.

About the striving of the saps in the splendour of summer,
About the heart's whispering in the balmy night.

The breezes blow more briskly, cause the leaf to fall,
The scents of soft moss bed it into its grave.

When my heart must someday rest, when my leaf someday falls off,
Then bed me softly into the grave of autumn.

Not when spring breezes waft about my crown,
Should [my] life sink away in the breath of the tombs.

Not when humid summer rests upon the forest --
In the coolness of autumn, only then can one rest well.