Pour, rain, pour down,
Awaken again in me those dreams
That I dreamt in childhood,
When the wetness foamed in the sand!

When the dull summer sultriness
Struggled casually against the fresh coolness,
And the pale leaves dripped with dew,
And the crops were dyed a deeper blue.

What bliss to stand in the downpour
With naked feet,
To reach into the grass
And touch the foam with one's hands!

Or upon hot cheeks,
To catch the cold drops;
And with the newly awakened fragrances
To air one's childish breast!

Like the flowers' chalices, which trickle there,
The soul breathes openly,
Like the flowers, drunk with fragrance,
Drowning in the dew of the Heavens.

Every trembling drop cooled
Deep down to the heart's very beating,
And creation's holy web
Pierced into my hidden life.

Pour, rain, pour down,
Awaken the old songs,
That we used to sing in the doorway
When the raindrops pattered outside!

I would like to listen to it again,
That sweet, moist rushing,
My soul gently bedewed
With holy, childlike awe.