Snowdrop, oh snowdrop,
In the meadows you ring your little white bell,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Ring always, ring out, ring out always!

For you herald happy times,
Springtime nears, the bridegroom
Returns victorious from the battle with winter,
Whose icy weapons he confiscated.

Therefore the golden wand is waved,
So that your silvery casque rings out,
And your lovely scent
Quietly streams forth like a flattering cry:

That the flowers in the earth
Rise from their gloomy nest,
And to be worthy of the bridegroom
Adorn themselves for the wedding celebration.

Snowdrop, oh snowdrop
In the meadows you ring your little white bell,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Ring the flowers out of their slumber!

You field pansy, delicate child,
Hear the lovely sound first,
And she gets up quickly,
And carefully adorns herself as a bride.

Wraps herself in a green dress,
Takes a velvet-blue cloak,
Takes her golden finery
And the diamond dew

Hurries off then with bustling step,
Only her friend in her faithful mind;
Completely ablaze with the glow of love,
She looks neither here nor there.

But an anxious feeling
Surges through her little breast,
For it is still so quiet all about,
And the breezes still blow coldly.

And she retards her rapid motion,
Already shone upon by the sun,
But with a shock she looks up,
For she is standing all alone.

No sisters, no bridegroom!
She has put herself forward! and been spurned!
Shame shudders through her,
She flees as if driven before a storm.

She flees to the most far-off place,
Where she is covered by grass and shadows,
Always looking and listening
If anything is rustling or moving.

And mortified and deceived
She sits and sobs and weeps,
Lacerated by the deepest trepidation
That some approaching person may appear.

Snowdrop, oh snowdrop
In the meadows you ring your little white bell,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Ring that her sisters might come to her!

The rose nears, the lily sways,
Tulip and hyacinth swell,
The field bindweed comes creeping along,
And the narcissus joins them.

When Spring now arrives,
And the happy festival begins,
He sees them all, who are united,
And he misses his dearest child.

He sends everyone off to search
For the one who is dear to him,
And they come upon the place
Where she pines in solitude.

But the dear heart sits
Mute and pale, her head bowed,
Ah! the pain of love and longing
Has crushed the tender one.

Snowdrop, oh snowdrop
In the meadows you ring your little white bell,
You ring in the quiet grove,
Toll sweet peace to the field pansy!