The winds are already sweeping
Mildly through the night,
The bark is bursting,
The cover cracks.

  The waves foam,
The flowing waters hurtle,
From out of winter dreams
Spring burgeons forth.

  With sweet weapons
The hero, springtime, fights,
With a merry army
He enters the field.

  With flowers he embroiders
His battledress,
And he sees sunbeams
And blazing clouds.

  The meadows smoke
With blue scent,
And buds emerge
From their quiet tomb.

  The branches sway --
A sea of blossoms,
And butterflies flit
About like messengers.

  That is a preparation
As if for battle,
As if they knew:
My heart is wakening.

  Pain, so mild,
You sprouting seeds --
The bark bursts,
Love nears.

  Now I cannot turn away
The blissful pain --
How is that to end,
My poor heart?